Snake Demon Rising
by monocrows
Summary: On learning, manipulation, and becoming a god. It all began at a time when cruelty was but a latent beast slumbering in the serpentine slit of his eye. A detailed look into how Orochimaru—young, cold, ambitious, dearly loved Orochimaru—came to defect from his village. Narutoverse prequel. [HIATUS]
1. Prologue

**A/N: Slowly doing some edits as of July 2018 to get back into the story. Maybe even finish it before we're old? Thanks for the patience.**

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 **Snake Demon Rising**

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 **Prologue**

 _14 Years Ago_

"What is this, sensei?"

Hiruzen eyed the pale thing that coiled in paler hands. "Ah, how lucky of you to find this," he chortled, not hiding a raised eyebrow. "It's the skin of a white snake."

The boy held the rent matter gently in his palms. It retained enough of its original shape to recognize the blueprints of the creature which had dwelled in it not too long ago: a small yet poisonous death adder, swift and easy to overlook.

Many questions lay lucid on the boy's cool white face as he sampled the skin between curious fingers. "I've never seen anything like it before."

Hiruzen smiled down at the orphan. In a moment of near fatherly fondness, he planted a hand atop the dark-haired head. Everything about the child bore the fragility of youth, the innocence. All but his golden eyes. Those eyes, not unlike the serpent heads they usually spied Hiruzen from, were impregnated with a depth that did not commonly belong with six-year-olds.

A heavy sigh pressed its way up Hiruzen's chest. The boy was not to blame for it, any of it.

Hiruzen felt a great sorrow every time he would walk the child to this place. What man wouldn't, when faced with the living consequence of the Nations' boundless fondness of warring?

"Actually, neither have I," Hiruzen admitted, rubbing the strained tendons in his neck. "It's a rare item that you almost never get to see."

"Why is it white?" the boy asked.

Hardly a common question. It was something Hiruzen had come to expect from this child. Young minds usually opened their questions with 'what', leaving the 'whys' for when life had forced the viridity out of them.

Examining the hazel quicksand in the boy's eyes, Hiruzen could not help but feel the prickle of an underlying question, one that had more to do with pale human skin than snake scales. _Why am I this way?_ It was a question Hiruzen was not qualified to answer.

"Well, I don't really know," he chuckled lightsomely, stifling the pity in his voice. Pity was not what this boy needed. He needed a mentor, a father, a strong paragon to take after and one day eclipse as that spark of genius unfurled into the origins of a distinguished ninja. Hiruzen was willing to take on that role, to finally pass down the ways of his tutors, those great men who had braved war and fed their own lives to it in hopes to appease it.

He but hoped that the Will of Fire would take root in this boy too, chase away the grief from his eyes before it deteriorated into something darker. "No one asks themselves such things. But from times past, the white snake has been a symbol of good luck and renewal."

The boy cast a wistful gaze down. Stroked the threadbare skin softly, as if it were a living pet. "Good luck and renewal..." he echoed thoughtfully in his thin, arcane voice.

Hiruzen inclined his head towards the fresh pair of gravestones, and the camellias gracing their flower pots. "It must be some sort of karma for you to find it here. Perhaps your parents are now reborn somewhere. Maybe someday when you are grown up you'll meet them again."

The boy lifted his head, hope and innocence ousting the undue adulthood from his face. "Reincarnation... When will that be?"

Hiruzen wished to give him some reassurance, tell him what he hoped to hear, but he knew that nothing good would come from making false promises. "Who knows? I couldn't say." He would give this boy honesty where he could.

Wind rasped through the field. Hiruzen watched wisps of long black hair twist to it. The boy's eyes narrowed to slits, and for a moment he appeared to enjoy the gush of air on his face.

He seemed content with the half-truth. For now.

* * *

 _Present Day_

The war has been exhausted. Realization is slowly beginning to sink in that he has taken all there is to take, and there is nothing more he can learn from it. The bodies he drags to his covert laboratories and cuts open in the dead of night under the flicker of half-dead candles no longer bleed out fascinating secrets. Now they keep whispering the same tale over and over. It rings hollow to his ears, as do the screams of the men and women who end up strapped to his table. _Probing disintegrating flesh can only take you so far_.

There is no newness to the red paths the carving blade travels down. The curves have become loops, and they all mock him, all those poor martyrs that are so very insignificant to him, even as they die, for their deaths give him no advantage, no headway, no meaning.

Their ghosts haunt him. Not his conscience, not his prying guilt—those things are long since deadened, if they were ever living to begin with. All those deaths ridicule him. Immortality keeps dangling just past his field of vision. He is circling the all-knowledge, never quite reaching it. He might not digress from his covenant objective, but at this rate he is not drawing any closer to it, either.

Gaping slits in human flesh laugh at him. They taunt him with rust-red smiles. Flaunt their dark saliva as they stubbornly refuse to bring any satisfaction to his raw curiosity. On some sleepless nights he doubts the bodies of his lessers—surely this cannot be _all_ there is to them. His fingers never cease their search for things. His serpentine eyes remain glazed, dilated and bloodshot as he wills his hand to administer pointless incision after pointless incision.

For all the things he is, Orochimaru cannot say he is a wasteful man.

The days bring no consolation, either. His life-long companions keep placing their uttermost trust in his sound actions, as if he is a man to be relied on, and it frustrates him endlessly. Those two are so impossibly preoccupied with the _idea_ of him, they have forgotten how to see him for who he truly is. Sometimes he thinks they wouldn't be able to fathom the truth, even if he spelled it out for them, hissed it in their faces. Such naivety.

Their teacher is a different matter. The old man knows his students too well. He ought to be sensing something askew with his favorite pupil as he has made it a point to keep an eye on him, going as far as to withhold the entire team from undertaking missions on the circumsphere of the war zones. As if keeping him close will do any good.

In the end Orochimaru supposes it was to be expected. Going out of his way to prevent the inevitable is precisely the thing Sarutobi-sensei would do.

Orochimaru will not have it for much longer. He is growing restless in the shadows. He is tired of masking his footprints. Has been honing his scalpel in the dark for too long. And to what end? It has all proven so very unproductive, the results meager at best, especially in light of the dead-end his recent experiments have led to. The war, Orochimaru thinks, might not be the only thing that's been exhausted.

"Be on the lookout, Tsunade, Orochimaru," Jiraiya's hoarse voice is barking now, as they enter the volatile stages of their latest mission. As if either of them needs to be reminded to keep their guard up in the middle of a buffer zone like the Hidden Rain.

"I detected a medic in their ranks," the Slug Princess says as she lands nearby. She's just arrived back from scouting the area and they need to regroup. Orochimaru huffs. Her information does not surprise. It certainly explains why some of the enemies they clash with carry familiar faces, faces they've battled and defeated as early as this afternoon. "They keep him well-protected though. I almost got spotted."

"Were you able to pinpoint the location?" Orochimaru asks procedurally. Judging by Tsunade's bleak expression, a positive answer is unlikely.

She shakes her head. "It's somewhere on the eastern outskirts of town. Someone's casting one hell of a genjutsu around the area, though. You know I'm not too great at dispersing these. I only caught glimpses."

Jiraiya swears loudly. "Those Stone pricks… 'Look at us, we're so far-out'! It seems to me they ain't batting an eye copycatting _our_ strategies."

"It is becoming a problem," Orochimaru hisses, wanting this to be over as quickly as possible so they can return to the Hidden Leaf, back to his perennial lair, where he can indulge in more thorough researching. "We will dispose of whatever medics they have before we proceed with the mission."

His white-haired teammate gives him a look. Orochimaru is well-aware the man does not cotton to following blunt orders, especially orders to kill, least of all from his snake comrade. But they are stuck in the middle of a precarious battlefield, rain pouring down their visors and sleeking the ground beneath their feet. They are considerably outnumbered. Foes on all sides bear both the Stone and Rain sigils on their foreheads. Orochimaru's approach is warranted, so there is precious little Jiraiya can say in protest. Still, the way the man's square jaw clenches does not go unnoticed.

"It's not like they're just gonna _throw_ them at us," Jiraiya grumbles reluctantly. "They're cowards, they won't let their healers take to the battlefield like Tsunade here."

"Injure one of their rankers, Tsunade," Orochimaru declares, already having devised a plan. His teammates never seem too keen on these, so he must fill in for them. "But do not make it fatal. Assuming they take him to their base camp, and supposing that's where they'd keep the medics, one of us will simply have to track them down and account for the healers without causing a clamor."

Tsunade nods grimly and leaps forward, her clenched fist already pumping streaks of bluish chakra. Between her and Jiraiya, she is the better option to go with for this part of the plan. She might command over monstrous strength but she also knows the human anatomy like the palm of her hand. Her control and precision over the implementation of critical strikes are flawless.

Besides, Jiraiya's inclination to go easy on his opponents could cost them a lot: the situation at hand requires serious injuries, otherwise the enemy may render first aid on the spot and not make the travel to what Orochimaru supposes must be a provisional sick-bay.

He observes as Tsunade tackles an earth style user from the Hidden Stone, punches through his mud shield and sends him hurling down the miry slope, straight into a formation of four of his fellow countrymen.

Orochimaru's tongue darts out to moisten his lips. His head tilts in appreciation of her thoughtfulness. Amidst the clutter of the battlefield, it often takes allies a while to spot an injured friend. It is no rare circumstance for the more heavily harmed to sometimes get trampled over by the fighting lot before help reaches them. Tsunade has eliminated this problem by hurtling the man directly into the arms of his teammates. It's good of her to think ahead like that.

"I'll go after him, Orochimaru," Jiraiya yells.

Orochimaru suppresses a snarl. No such virtue from his other teammate.

"You must not."

"What are you going on about?"

"Stay with Tsunade. The two of you should handle the enemy more quickly if you summon Gamabunta." That's not quite the reason Orochimaru wishes to undertake the tracking endeavor himself, but of course Jiraiya can't know that.

When his teammate does not seem convinced, he adds, "If I were to invoke Manda, he'd demand sacrifices ahead of his service, and we have no time for that."

The mention of excessive killing dips the scales and Jiraiya gives him a weary beck. "Be back quickly, you slippery snake." The touch of worry in his voice sickens Orochimaru.

He is quick to mingle with the mass of screeching metal, colliding fists and gored flesh. He is closer to a serpent than to a human male, and so he moves with the agility of the former, each movement graceful and carefully calculated. Flying shuriken and enemy blows miss his flesh narrowly but he does not let the injured Stone chunin out of sight, not even for a moment.

He sashays across the muddy field, little more than a blur as he navigates his way through the melee with expertise. His yellow eyes are fixed firmly on their prey. He briefly acknowledges the fact that, unlike when the battle began, he now steps over more body parts than solid ground.

Tsunade breezes past him at some point as she moves to rejoin Jiraiya, and they share a terse beckon as they dash in opposite directions.

A deafening bang thunders behind him, and Orochimaru turns just in time to see the explosion bloom like a bright red flower in the rain. He halts in his tracks, squinting at the sphere of smoke engulfing the area. Tsunade is the first of the group caught in the blast to reemerge from the grayness. Her left side seems badly damaged, her apparel is ruined, bits of flesh on her forearm have been burned to a crisp. The way she nearly crawls away from the crash site is indication enough of her plight.

Her most affected parts flare in pale green as she begins to heal herself almost immediately. Others are starting to pull themselves out of the small-scale crater that has formed around the place of the fulmination. The air is filling with the scent of burnt flesh and the sounds of moaning half-corpses. Some are in better condition than others, and Orochimaru sees them drawing close to Tsunade, blades in their clutches. She is still on her knees, panting as she tries to repair the damages scattered across her arm as quickly as possible.

Orochimaru squints in frustration. Across the field, the wounded Stone chunin is being yanked further away by two of his friends.

Hesitation holds him back for only the briefest of moments before he jumps after them. More is at stake than the life of a teammate; Jiraiya can handle the rest.

* * *

 **A/N:** **So the Naruto nostalgia hit me like a pile of bricks to the head and I did a thing. Feedback is always welcome! I dedicate this to my lovely beta a.k.a. ucouldbx, who, y'know, betas things for me, and generally sticks in my boring life for no obvious reason. I'm telling you, she's something else. In case you're wondering why the story picks up exactly where it picks up, I ask of you to keep in mind that I always envisioned Orochimaru's defection not so much as a sporadic event as a long-running process, and I imagine said process must have started around the climax of the Second World War. So there you go. Enjoy the read ahead!** **  
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	2. The Simple Joys of Being a Madman

**1.** **The Simple Joys of Being a Madman**

The clutter of combat dies down the more those drab buildings and narrow frameworks stretch out between him and the part of town that's been devoured by warfare. Only rain remains to batter distractingly at his visor now. Orochimaru narrows his hazel eyes at it. This change of scenery does not work in his favor. Concealing his sounds will only grow more troublesome now that the ear-shattering cries of the fighting pit are far behind. Eventually he will be forced to put more distance between himself and the three-man cell he is pursuing.

He'll still be able to pick up on their scent with a mere flit of his forked tongue, but he isn't too familiar with the cartography of this district and prefers to keep the men in sight range for good measure.

This town has a typical complex Hidden Rain infrastructure, with high rooftop mushrooming over high rooftop, incommodious bends and turns, and constricted creases in-between edifices that make for a complicated system Orochimaru has no wish to have to work out mid-chase.

He follows the Hidden Stone shinobi as closely as his instinct brooks. Eventually they detour from the fairly broad pathway they've been following and take to the left, heading roughly north-east. Orochimaru keels after them, exuding a certain predatory emanation he does well to keep out of his fellow villagers' eyeshot. The prospect of fresh blood on his hands sends ripples through his body, a slow pulsation from toes to temple.

He is still careful to memorize his surroundings for when he heads back to the battlefront. Tsunade has served him and Jiraiya with detailed maps of the entire town area, but he has had no spare time to look it over. It irks him whenever he is unprepared for a situation like this. He has voicelessly assumed the role of the most adaptive ninja within their team, and he does not like the sour aftertaste of these kinds of slips.

Something slightly curls inside him at the thought of failing to uphold his end of the unspoken contract he has with his teammates. He has little wish for them to get the idea that his competence is dwindling, that he's _a slacker_ , the way Jiraiya would put it. Orochimaru briefly wonders how those two are doing... surely they are holding up fine. He immediately retaliates from the reflection. Worrying like that is something Jiraiya would do. The very notion of his mind operating in the same spirals as his white-haired teammate's pumps acrimony through his system. No, Orochimaru thinks. Jiraiya's long-standing proximity is definitely not doing him any good. He needs to put some distance between himself and his teammates once they are through with this mission, or the next thing he knows he'll be reading through one of the white-haired man's perverted drafts no publisher in their right mind would ever endorse. And that just won't do.

One of the Hidden Stone turns back sharply, pulling Orochimaru out of his thoughts. The man waves the hand seals for a chained earth technique Orochimaru is vaguely acquainted with, courtesy of one of their fellow jounin getting decapitated by it. It is a sort of scanning the ground for hostile movement by sending small quivers that could expand over a fairly wide scope. Scope Orochimaru is well within.

Orochimaru grits his teeth, appalled that, consumed by thoughts of his teammates, he has allowed his guard down.

He manages to disperse himself into a hundred snakes a split of a second before the ripples reach him, and subsequently erect peaked stone pillars in his place. With Orochimaru's chakra scattered, the Hidden Stone jounin should be able to detect no more than a slight disruption in his scanner, a flow so faint he would no doubt allot it to a fresh corpse, or an animal recently fed on the flesh of a ninja.

"You sense anything, Kenta?" Orochimaru vaguely hears the other one ask. His hearing is not at its usual sharpest whenever he converts into his serpentine form. The sounds he catches are simpler, more basic, as if coming from far away. His enhanced sense of smell however all but makes up for this slight shortcoming. He has always preferred sensing things more primally anyway. That is when he feels closest to truly _being_ —and in the end that is the single, simple truth he's after.

The jounin whose name is Kenta lets his gaze linger on the throat of the alleyway, where Orochimaru slithers up the walls, for a short while before withdrawing his technique. "No, just some vermin that got to dine on a poor bastard."

Orochimaru counts to ten before he reassumes his human form. He could kill them all right now, but that is not the point of this entire venture. Still, his anger from losing his focus needs to go somewhere. _Later_ , he tells himself. _When you reach the settlement._

Buildings slowly peter out the further eastward they go. Cement gives way to mud and suddenly there is less to hide behind than Orochimaru would have liked. He casts a quick genjutsu to keep himself camouflaged, but judging by the skill the sensor jounin has been displaying he will still need to keep his distance.

By the time they reach a wide rice paddy, Orochimaru knows Tsunade hasn't been exaggerating: the genjutsu staged around the area _is_ rather powerful. If he hadn't been warned what to look for, it might have taken him a while to spot the camp base situated right in the middle of it.

Orochimaru's lips curve upward. Setting up a key jumping-off spot out in the open like that… it has been rather clever of them. _Always hide things at the most obvious place…_

Perhaps he can take an example and establish his next clandestine laboratory in the abandoned tunnels underneath the Hokage mansion… He is mildly amused by the imaginary look on Sarutobi-sensei's wrinkly, honorable face, should the old man ever stumble upon one of his pupil's experiments. _Why so surprised, sensei?_ _It has been going on under your very nose, after all,_ he'd coo poisonously, tipping his head to the quarters aboveground. _Under_ _your_ _very_ _nose indeed._

It takes him a while to probe the sphere of illusions that cloaks the region, but he finds his way around it. He can see why Tsunade has experienced difficulties going further in. The illusion appears to be devised to distort the brain area responsible for perceiving orientation and shape. Any intruder must feel as if up were down, left were right, and three-dimensional objects were flat.

He creeps forward once he is certain that he has deciphered the genjutsu, still wary of scouts and guards.

He takes a resentful sort of pleasure in the knowledge that it would have taken Jiraiya or Tsunade hours to do what he has accomplished in several minutes. Between himself and his teammates, he's always been the most capable when it comes to casting and dealing with genjutsu. That and retaining a cool composure when faced with dire circumstances, or conducting delicate political negotiations, or handling his cups of sake. The list of things he does better than those two goes on and on. Though he can admit there _are_ certain trivial areas where they just so happen to outshine him.

Princess Tsunade, for instance. He cannot tell if she has her fine lineage to thank or if it's a personal virtue, but the woman has always possessed the skill to get people to like her. From their earliest years when she would influence Sarutobi-sensei into going easy on her in his punishments, or worse—get him to take her out on one of her ridiculous gambling sprees, the woman could always get away with things neither of her teammates could. And as of late, this particular attribute of hers has begun to bring her into prominence among their colleagues and fellow villagers; even their politicians seem to be somewhat enchanted by the village Princess, and she doesn't even need to try that hard. Orochimaru is clever enough to realize the potential of having such a vast net of influence at your fingertips.

Jiraiya, on the other hand, when one looks past his perfunctory idiocy, has always attracted people's trust like a magnet. Somewhere between his melodramatic gallantry and his boisterous exterior the man has no trouble earning the credence of their typical clients, who so often long for a strong, reassuring presence to ease their trifling worries. Even if the optimism he gives them is false at times—a simple charade people mutually agree to believe for the sake of keeping their sanity—it never fails to win Jiraiya some groundless and very illogical favorism.

Trustworthiness and reputation. Orochimaru is many things, but fool is not among them. He understands how being granted entry to restricted sections of the advanced research library or access to certain classified data files could turn considerably easier if one happened to possess a combination of both these strange characteristics, those qualities he so frustratingly lacks.

That's not to say he does not command over a charisma of his own. On the contrary, he is aware of the gripping effect he has on most people. But there is only so much one can make out of trembling lambs and pups staring up at him in adoration. It is enough for now, to be sure, but he might need more than that later on, when the game deepens and certain tensions begin to escalate. To that end Orochimaru has done his best to copycat his teammates' behavior in these kinds of situations as accurately as he can impersonate them, but such things just can't seem to come naturally to him. Unlike any jutsu, those are things he cannot master by the grace of his genius. And whenever Orochimaru can't have something, all he wishes for is to demolish it, utterly and completely.

Of course that's not quite an option when it comes to his teammates. So he has settled for quietly disdaining them both for these qualities that he can never learn or make his own. And whenever he does something they cannot—which is no rarity—he makes sure to add it to the list of things that make him different— _better_ —than those two.

Orochimaru approaches the encampment, sidestepping several explosive tags that lay half-buried in the ground, and twisting his lithe body as not to activate a few hair-thin cords connected to mechanical traps that are taut subversively in the low of the grass across the field. Past the genjutsu and the few scattered pitfalls, he finds the place vastly undefended, with only a handful of soldiers patrolling around the periphery, hands clasped together in the tiger seal to support the wide-scope genjutsu. They've clearly been relying on the impressive illusion shield to keep them safe from outer attacks.

Orochimaru licks his achromatic lips. Such a tragic mistake to make.

He takes cover behind a distal tent. A plethora of minor snakelings tip out from his sleeves and gingerly swarm the vicinity. He closes his eyes, connecting his mind not so much to any of their five senses as to their overall perception of the surroundings.

There appears to be a single medic in the entire campus. Orochimaru is slightly taken aback by this discovery, taking into account what a considerable amount of wounded they must have had to treat over the course of the battle. He sneaks into the singled out tent undetected, kunai flashing in his hand. The injured chunin from earlier lays sprawled on a wooden table, moaning in pain as a tubby young girl no more than eight years old with orange hair and expressive cobalt eyes scurries around him, arranging herbs and potions on a nearby rack. Orochimaru's eyes widen a little when she uses a stepping chair, her small feet stomping up decisively, and leans over the man. Her palms fashion a green-glow rim as they begin treating the wounds effortlessly.

"You should be more careful, elder brother Naoki. Getting yourself all beat up like that ain't manly!"

"But—that Hidden Leaf wench was strong as hell," the man tiffs.

"You let a _girl_ rough you up? Idiot brother! You shame our village!" The girl's small fists cease healing and start drumming over the squirming shinobi vindictively. "Shame shame shame!"

"I know, I know… Ouch!"

Orochimaru's tongue darts out ravenously at the view. They present such a dear sight, sister tending to brother in a joint effort to serve their country. So very absorbed in their task. So very distracted.

The child-healer leans over the table to clutch an empty test tube, blocking out Orochimaru's corner from the wounded ninja's view.

It is as good an opportunity as they come to strike. Two of his elder anacondas wrap themselves tightly about the guards stationed outside, breaking their necks in a matter of seconds. Strangling the life out of them would have been too impractical, as it would have involved far more choking sounds and subdued struggles. Orochimaru has long since learned that snapping cervical vertebras is the better way to go about it when one is in a rush.

He emerges from the shadows and steps forward behind the little girl silently. The injured chunin goggles like a frightened lamb as he begins to discern Orochimaru's tall dark silhouette. Orochimaru throws his kunai without preamble. It catches the man in the eye, sinking deep into the socket, crumpling the whole upper cheek in on itself. The small girl makes to scream as tremors of dying agony rend through the gored man, but Orochimaru comes up behind her, clamps a pale hand over her wet little mouth. The girl trashes meekly in his iron grip. Tears escape the corners of her round eyes, small whimpers of terror drowned in his palm.

Orochimaru grips the back of her head and pulls, forcing the girl to stare up at him. His tongue protrudes to lick away her tears. "My my… such pretty eyes you have. They are special, are they not?"

He is almost certain those are a physical manifestation of the bloodline this girl undoubtedly possesses. It certainly explains her proficiency at gauging curative chakra, her skill polished to such precision at such a young age, it very well may rival Tsunade's.

"You must be the Hidden Stone's little treasure. Now, now, don't fret. To be honest, I have half a mind to keep you, for research." All those individuals he has collected in battles previously waged swim up in his recollection. They had all cradled the same promise in their eyes, the same godly spark. Yet he is no stranger to the disappointment most of them have turned out to be. Still... He admits to being rather curious about this one. Almost enough to pull out the tranquilizer he has stashed away in his holster instead of his sword.

He does not allow himself this chance, as punishment for getting carried away with thoughts of his teammates' well-being earlier. "But I think not."

The girl's cyan eyes dilate fearfully as her delicate throat bulges beneath the single draw of the Kusanagi blade over her pharynx. He plays the flesh like a master violinist, the motion smooth and drawn out elegantly. His intense serpentine eyes never leave the girls' as they darken and relinquish of their vivid color.

Then he steps out right in the middle of the camp and bites his finger as alerted shouts echo around him. White smoke enfolds him before the first wave of shuriken crosses half the distance over to him. Slick purple scales wreathe around nearby tents as Manda's immense triangular head emerges from the dense fog, the white veil retrograding to reveal his great, corrugated body. The summoning gives out a husky hiss to the accompaniment of panicked gasps erupting from down below.

"I hope those are for me, Orochimaru," the great serpent fizzes, his deep voice making the ground beneath him rumble. Orochimaru has been owing his giant familiar a feeding or two, and now is the perfect opportunity to cover the event. "I was beginning to think you took my services for granted."

Orochimaru has never let himself fall for the idea that any comradeship exits between himself and his summoning. Unlike Gamabunta or Katsuyu, who are loyal to a fault to their sworn masters, Manda can be fickle as the wind. Insulting him or disrespecting his demands would be too much of a risk to take, even for Orochimaru. Not that Orochimaru has any intention to break their decade-long arrangement either way.

"Spare no one," he says evenly, looking over the frightened lot on the ground. And spare no one Manda does.

Hidden Stone shinobi smash themselves into bloody tidbits against Manda's scales, their earth style useless against a creature of the earth. Others trip over one another to flee. Third remain stupefied as the great snake hauls down on them, jaw gaping widely, hungrily.

Orochimaru contemplates the scene with a fair bit of elation.

Slowly, a sick grin splits his face in half. His golden eyes glint with fermented, raw satisfaction. This, this is the reason why he had wanted to come here himself. He hasn't had a proper release in weeks, and relishes the sound of each bone crushed, each limb torn, each scream silenced for good.

Orochimaru laughs a void laughter, sinister and cruel and for once free of all care for his teammates.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** So yeah, 't was a pretty quick update. Boom. I wouldn't get too used to it if I were you... Thanks for all the feedback on the prologue! It warms my nerdy heart to read such great comments. So... more reviews anyone? *wink-wink* Mmm yeah I'll see myself out.


	3. Things as They Are

**2\. Things as They Are**

Orochimaru vaults from one pointed rooftop to the next with refreshed zeal. His sable cloak whips in the wind along with strands of dark waist-long hair. His previously tense muscles are now pleasantly relaxed. By seeing to Manda's organic hunger for human flesh, Orochimaru finds his more collateral appetite strangely sated as well.

He makes it a point to enjoy these little moments of serenity whenever he is caught between two consecutive crusades like this, with one scorched battleground smoldering behind him while he is rapidly sweeping towards another.

He feels rejuvenated and back in control, now that the massacre has successfully evened out the slight crack in his composure; his _comrades_ only reside in the back of his mind, an afterthought, the word disgraceful and smudged with blood. It's their fault, really, the fate that's befallen those wretches from the Hidden Stone. They could have died a much less gruesome death had Orochimaru arrived in a better mood.

Orochimaru lowers his eyelids now, allowing the rain and its redolence to wash over him, and it very much feels like expelling all thoughts from his mind.

He crosses back the distance twice as quickly, seeing as there are no longer any pesky foes there at his front that need to be kept pace with. He also allows himself to take a few shortcuts instead of trailing back the same mundane route the Hidden Stone shinobi have been cleaving to on their way east. As always, his exercise of memory does not fail him. He's managed to not only memorize the path they'd taken, but also analyze the parallel and perpendicular thoroughfares for possible timesavers and bypasses.

Soon enough, the combat zone manifests before him.

He hears Jiraiya's fervent bawls before he can hear anything else from that battlefield. Orochimaru gives out a short, guttural sound of annoyance. Always a loudmouth, that man.

Once again there's eye-watering smoke winding about the area. Squinting, Orochimaru is able to tell apart the bulbous silhouette of Gamabunta somewhere within the cloud. His distinctive sinuous pipe juts out like an odd sprig, distorting the overall roundness of the toad's massive shape.

Orochimaru nose-dives into the vortex, covering the lower half of his face with his fluttering sleeve. He is yet to figure out what the smoke consists of, and he does not wish to take any chances. He figures he must have landed in the middle of a skirmish because he immediately has to duck in order to avoid a flying fist. The two clashing shinobi rush at one another and Orochimaru crouches again, supporting himself with his hands as to vacate the spot where metal is due to collide. Orochimaru hisses in displeasure as metallic scintillations dust over his head, irksome fireflies caught in the dark fan of his hair.

The smoke is too thick to make much of anything. He is forced to rely on his sense of smell and the sounds of splashing puddles alone to locate the proximity of the two opposing soldiers as they trade jabs.

One of the men grunts out in pain at some point, a heavy thud suggesting a collapse to the ground. Orochimaru knows death when he hears it. The remaining shinobi lunges into him without warning. Orochimaru staves off a flying kick and bends over backwards. He feels a kunai's coldness hover mere inches from his exposed throat.

He is well-aware of the fact that there are other Hidden Leaf jounin on this battleground besides him, Jiraiya and Tsunade. The smoke does not appear to be dissolving, and there is no gain to be had in fighting a fellow countryman. It would be disadvantageous to their survival odds if he were to unwittingly rid them of an ally.

Yet there is little to be done about it. Even up close, he cannot see more than blurry contours, a rough sketch of a man. He doubts the other one can discern the sigil on his headband, either. Could this nuisance be serving the correct feudal lord after all? It is an odd era they live in indeed, where a man's life depends on something as simple as the name of a tyrant.

He draws back, mouth open to state his origin—

The man either doesn't hear him, or doesn't much care. Orochimaru notices the distinctive electric jolts of the lightning release as they crackle through the curtain of smoke. There's no time to think. Orochimaru darts out his tongue and uses it to catch hold of the man's ankle, taking advantage of the running shinobi's momentum to smash him powerfully into the ground. Concrete cracks and gives under the whipping force of his attack.

Orochimaru slams the body down hard. The man does not get up.

Orochimaru retracts his tongue and makes to look for his teammates. He does not check to see the man's headband.

He catches glimpses of men and women barking orders, so he assumes it must be save to breathe freely. He tentatively withdraws his gauntleted forearm from his face, hastening to orientate himself in his surroundings. There's a galore of yelling and banging and cursing, but the general consensus of foes and allies alike appears to be 'I can't see a damned thing'.

Orochimaru scoffs. They might as well have let genin squads lead the front lines for all the competence this lot was mustering.

"Bunta!" Jiraiya's howl wafts from somewhere to the left, sounding every bit as chafed as the rest of the soldiers. "I _told you_ not to smoke down here you sloth!"

Orochimaru suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. So _that_ is the source of the suffocating fog. How typical.

"Shut it, boy," the toad chief chunters. There's a great sound of inhaling and then the toad is gushing out another wave of heated fumes, draping the area in an even thicker nebula. "I'll smoke wherever I damn well please."

"Can't you see we can't fight properly because of you?!" Jiraiya is wailing.

"Stop dwelling on the details, damn you!"

"It's not a detail if it's the whole damn point! What kind of a summoning are you if you're just gonna to make things even more complicated for us?"

"I'm the best kind of summoning a little ingrate like you can dare hope for!"

Princess Tsunade's hoarse scream rises above the bustling argument. Which is, by itself, impressive. "If the two of you don't sort this out this instant I'll call on Katsuyu and tell her to wrap you in her follicles!"

Guided by the sound of the rowdy voices, Orochimaru finds his way across the field and lands on Gamabunta's head behind the fuzzy silhouette he identifies as Tsunade. He places a hand on her shoulder to indicate his arrival.

Not his wisest move, in retrospect. She immediately smacks him away and moves to elbow him, the reaction more a reflex than a conscious movement. Orochimaru blocks her blow and chuckles, letting her recognize his voice. "Touchy as always, Princess. Please refrain from summoning Katsuyu to this battlefield. You should save your chakra for more immediate necessities."

"Don't sneak up on me like that," she scolds, relaxing her stance. "Did you get them?"

Orochimaru doesn't let himself hesitate as he delivers his answer. "Their camp was already ravaged when I arrived. Whatever medics they might have had must have died along with their comrades."

Tsunade nods gloomily. "I see…"

"The Hidden Rain's doing?" Jiraiya shouts from his position on the tip of Gamabunta's pipe, quarrel with the frog chief briefly suspended.

Orochimaru's lips curve upward. "You could say that." And let them make of that what they will.

Eventually they coax the toad to cease smoking and the environment gradually clears. Then it's the same as always: him and Jiraiya generating long-range attacks from atop Gamabunta's massive head as Tsunade gets up close and personal with whatever enemies skitter too close to their position while also providing instant remedy for whatever wounds the three of them happen to suffer. They've been doing this for so long, now it's as good as innate.

Falling into these familiar patterns feels too seamless, it makes Orochimaru uneasy. _You should not be able to_ _do fight this way_ , something in the back of his mind warns. He has no time to ponder. It is all too easy to retune to this.

By the time they've swept the battleground, they are all spent. Jiraiya is huffing and puffing like a wild boar, with a sickly pale Tsunade propped up against him. Orochimaru can't tell for certain which of the two is supporting the other. Even Gamabunta is positively hyperventilating from having expectorated hundreds of gallons of inflammable oil. "Damn it to hell… Hey Jiraiya! You need me for something else?"

"No," Jiraiya manages, "you can… run off now."

"Good," the toad coughs out. "Lord knows I need to have a smoke."

With that he vanishes in a puff of curly white clouds, effectively dropping them in the air.

Orochimaru touches down hard, with less of his usual grace than he would have liked. Jiraiya and Tsunade nearly tumble to the ground as they struggle to keep each other standing. As much as Orochimaru hates to admit it, the two consecutive battles have drained most of his strength and he is in need of a similar comfort. He opts to use a nearby wall for this purpose. Tsunade is already at her limit and he'd rather set his hair on fire than have to lean on Jiraiya.

"We showed those bastards, eh?" a fellow Hidden Leaf jounin jubilates as he comes up to them. "Good job, you three."

Orochimaru takes a gander over at the scorched wasteland. Corpses of all three clashing villages sheet the ground, scattered like a grotesque tessellation. Some are disfigured, others have blades and daggers sticking from their decaying flesh. Flies and mutts are already beginning to swarm the place despite the showering mizzle that disseminates the blood but never quite washes it off.

Orochimaru transiently registers the grim expressions sitting squarely on both his teammates' faces. He clicks his tongue and looks the other way, already knowing what Jiraiya will say.

"What's _good_ about what we've just done?"

* * *

"Does this damned rain ever stop?" Princess Tsunade growls when it's their turn to share the watch. They've been needing a letup, so they've settled for a natural cavern in the north-west of the country, secluded from both towns and known enemy camps. They've been hiding out for over a week now. It's excruciating, the inactivity, but they all need time to recover from the recent skirmishes if they are to proceed with their military actions and take the war to the Hidden Stone's very doorstep.

Tsunade wraps her bent knees in a tight embrace, trying to conceal her recoil from the sound of water sneakily corroding stone. Orochimaru feels slighted. They have been in each other's company for too long—she should know better than to think she can hide anything at all from him.

Orochimaru himself doesn't mind the rain all that much. It's a common disadvantage for them and their enemies (save for the ones commanding over the lightning release, but those are scarce in number and mostly of their own), so one could say it actually impedes no one. While the clouds that helix and loom like great beasts over this deplorable land blurt out water that's thick with foulness, it's still better than having to help one's self across the country with blood and dirt stuck to their skin and clothing.

Most of all, rain is a symptom of movement, fluent, incessant and unruly, much like the world they live in. Orochimaru is wise enough to know not to grizzle over spinning wheels that yet remain too great for a single man—even for him—to place a rod in. The best one can hope for is to take advantage of the circumstances fate presents him with.

"Does war ever stop?" he retorts darkly, a ghostly smile playing on his lips.

Tsunade says nothing in reply, but her disapproving gaze lingers on him subtly for a long while.

* * *

"Orochimaru…" Jiraiya begins as the two of them stand guard, Tsunade curled in the depth of the cavern, mutedly snoring with her back to them. "The way you took off back when Tsunade was stuck with those Hidden Stone jounin…" Jiraiya pauses, as if it really bothers him to say the words that come out next. "I _saw_ you looking her way before you drove off, y'know."

"And I saw you flouncing in towards her," Orochimaru lies. "What good would it have done if we tripped over one another in a rush to aid the Princess?" He gives out a dismissive chuckle. "Really, Jiraiya, I think one of us is more than enough to help an ally out of a tight spot."

Jiraiya clicks his tongue angrily. "She's not an _ally_. She's a _friend_ for crying out loud! Or don't you get the difference? Us three are _friends_. What's wrong with you to never just say it out loud like that?"

Orochimaru is quite dumbfounded by this sudden outburst. This… matter seems to have been a concern to his toad-favored teammate for some time.

"I can't see why you're taking offence with me doing our etiquette justice. Tsunade is a kunoichi from the Hidden Leaf, just like you and me. That makes her our ally. Quit acting like the word holds some sort of vulgarity to it. Allies, soldiers, killers… It is what we are." He narrows his gold-streaked eyes in contempt. "And besides... Why do you think _she_ never came to mention it once on our way here, or while she was standing guard with me?

"She is no _fool_ , Jiraiya," Orochimaru continues before the other man can speak up. "Do you really think she didn't see me just as well? She is a ninja. We are raised to make tough choices, and to live with the tough choices of others. Tsunade understands that. She measured the weight of her life and saw the stakes were greater than that. How long before you stop chasing after the wind and understand it too?"

Jiraiya grits his teeth, the sangria markings on his troubled face creasing to accommodate a deep frown. His black eyes scintillate with the oddest mixture of acrimony, pain, regret and slow acquiescence. "Do you _always_ have to be so damn blunt about everything?"

Orochimaru turns his back on Jiraiya, and steps out into the pouring rain. The metallic scent of fresh blood admixed with contaminated water fills his nostrils, rolls laggardly on his forked tongue. "We're at war, my old _friend_. At least one of us needs to call things by their real names."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** So it just crossed my mind that these last few chapters haven't exactly been living up to the word count I usually set for my works. That's because, as you can see, I'm trying to keep chapters short and sweet (the latter isn't quite the word for it, or any other Oro-centric piece, eh?). I _could_ expand the average length of chapters, or even go as far as to combine two or more chapters into one hell of a bitch if you guys want me to, but that would significantly slow down the updating process. That being said, I understand some people's frustration with the rather short reads I've been providing. So your call!


	4. Morose Comrades Make for a Bad Trip

**3.** **Morose Comrades Make for a Bad Trip**

They are both not speaking to him now. Neither one of them has explicitly made their feelings known, but their affront with him is audible in the way they walk in concert and converse between themselves in hushed murmurs, leaving him to tail behind and watch over the rear, a position usually reserved for Jiraiya.

Orochimaru could care less. Let them see him for who he is. It is past time they got to realize just how different he is from either of them. He will not admit guilt over breaking hard truths to them. The only thing his teammates are inconveniencing with this childish farce is the mission. Chances of them being killed during a skirmish amplify many times over if they won't coordinate their ploy.

Orochimaru scoffs. As strong as they both are, as many an obstacle as they've had to overcome throughout this and many other military campaigns, his companions remain the same romanticist fools as ever, complacent appeasers who weren't bred for the crude pit of warfare.

Between his two teammates, Jiraiya is decidedly worse. His head is full of ideals that are incongruous with the impersonal, war-torn world they live in. One of these days, Orochimaru thinks, this ideology of his is going to cost them too much.

At least his white-haired teammate seems to have outgrown the primary incompetence that surrounded him as a child, and has the wit to periodically send out clones to scout the area without being told to do so.

By happy chance, most of the enemies they encounter flaunt the emblem of the Hidden Sand on their weather-worn headbands, and Tsunade has proven invaluable when it comes to countering the poisons they so heavily rely on. The puppets in and of themselves are no threat to soldiers of their caliber, and the three of them easily hold their own against the marionettes and their wielders without having to exchange words of strategy.

One puppeteer they encounter close to the border with the Land of Earth gives them a peculiarly hard time. The man—pale-haired and shabby-looking, with eyes set so deeply into their sockets they are shrouded by his thick drooping eyebrows, does not seem much older than the tree of them. And yet he makes the blank-faced wooden dummies dance better than any other Hidden Sand agent they've engaged so far.

Orochimaru has never seen a puppeteer quite this quick-fingered. When a particularly nasty fencer puppet misses his cheek by a whisker, Orochimaru gnashes his teeth in annoyance. He seizes an opportunity to sneak up on the man while Tsunade and Jiraiya continue to tussle with a set of multi-armed pikemen. Bursting from the ground and not wasting any time in delivering a dexterous strike, Orochimaru lays hold of the man by the pulsing throat and slams him in cold blood against the concretion. He makes it a point to break each bone on every one of those irksomely quick fingers before he conjures the Kusanagi sword, his own fingers closing around the familiar shape of the sleek handle by habit, arm coming down for a well-practiced, natural swing.

A strong hand grips his wrist, immobilizing him before he can bring the cutting edge down over the squirming man's neck. Orochimaru hisses like one of his reptile familiars as he shoves Jiraiya away, irate that his teammate would go as far as to intercept him in the middle of a killing. He flashes his teeth, breaking the days-long silence only to fizzle out his dissatisfaction, "Do not presume to keep me from doing what you yourself are too meek to perform, Jiraiya."

"Leave him be, Orochimaru. The way you've damaged his hands, he won't be of any use to his village before the war's over."

"That's right," Tsunade chimes in, peeking from behind Jiraiya's shoulder. A stern look draws lines on her face, badges of burdens some would deem her too young to be carrying. "No need to get any more blood on our hands than we already have."

Orochimaru rasps, pivoting on his heels to face his ignorant teammates. They will insist on being impossible, even when they know full-well the gravity of letting an enemy ninja escape with his life.

"And when he returns to his village, that is unless he dies on the way there, what do you think his first words will be? That the Hidden Leaf is sending out death squads into the Land of the Earth. Don't give me that face, the both of you, we _are_ a death squad. Not a very effective one, by the looks of it. But even you two have enough sense to realize we can't have the enemy know of our plans."

Jiraiya grabs him by the collar and shakes him vigorously, earning himself a threatening hiss. "Enough with your damned calculations! This war is horrible enough as it is. I'm not letting you murder a disarmed man."

Tsunade nods, although a touch less ardent than their fellow comrade. "It's true, Orochimaru. Killing a defenseless man like this just seems… cruel."

Orochimaru nearly snarls. His lips curl in disgust at his teammates' softness. "Sentimentality. I expected better from you, Princess. Jiraiya here might be a thorough halfwit, but you usually know reason. Instead you would have us show mercy to this… misconception." His restless gaze drops to the writhing Hidden Sand ninja. His pale face twists in disdain. "Virtue is the last thing I suspected from you, Tsunade, considering how none of the Hidden Sand's underlings ever showed your little brother such."

Tsunade's amber eyes grow wide and dull as she stands therе, face placid as the memory overruns her. The woman seems flabbergasted that he would bring up _that_ matter, which has been something of an unspoken taboo for their team for the past year.

At the same time, Jiraiya looks ready to kill him. When his ashen-haired teammate speaks, his voice is low and minatory like Orochimaru's only heard it several times in his life.

"Apologize to her right now… or I will hurt you."

Orochimaru tenses, sensing that things are starting to get earnest. He narrows his snake-like eyes, assessing the situation. They have all pended up certain frustrations towards one another, and quite frankly he would like nothing more than to call the honorable fool's dare. But they are in the middle of a war zone. Despite starting out as the village's joke and good-for-nothing troublemaker, Jiraiya has undeniably grown to become a skillful ninja and a force to be reckoned with. There's no telling how things might go in an earnest fight between the two of them at this point.

It would not only slow them down, but precondition an almost certain death at the hands of those rats from lesser villages that lurk obscurely in the shadows, stalling their onslaught for when the team is at its weakest.

"Careful now, Jiraiya," Orochimaru speaks slowly, huskily, poison dripping in his voice. "We don't want to create more work for Princess Tsunade than she can manage."

That only seems to set the man deeper into his rage. "Oh so _now_ you're worried about her all of a sudden? Where was that concern two seconds ago when you were being an insensitive jackass without batting an eye?"

Orochimaru shrugs off his teammate's indignation. "I am only interested in Tsunade fulfilling her duty as a medic. Her state of mind is no concern of mine. I'm not asking you two to care for my feelings, so do not expect it from me, either."

Jiraiya clenches his jaw. "We're not asking you to rock us to sleep, you cynical bastard. Why is it so difficult for you to just show some common sense every now and then?"

Orochimaru jeers at the absurdity of it. His tongue protrudes absent-mindedly to lick down the double-edged length of the Kusanagi sword, tasting the deaths of a hundred men and finding some degree of comfort to his seething wrath in the cold touch of the metal.

"Common sense? Don't make me laugh, Jiraiya. Telling right from wrong is a fool's quest. The borderline between these two abstractions has always been too plain for you when in truth it's non-existent. Look around. War eats all. People die with no one to avenge them. Everything is allowed. Every weakness in the heart can and will be exploited to harm's end in some way." His cold serpentine eyes constrict to slits. "Even from those who stand closest to you. You should be grateful that it was me who took advantage of Tsunade's weakness as I did it to open her eyes to her own mistakes. An enemy would have used it to far crueler ends."

Jiraiya looks him dead in the eye, coal eyes riled but resolute."Grateful, huh? And still you've never heard either of us make fun of _your_ folks' death, have you?"

It jumps up on him, unexpected. His teammate has never made mention of Orochimaru's past like this before, and wisely so. The sheer impudence of that man, speaking as if he knows the half of it. Orochimaru feels his hate incense, thick and black as old blood on a decayed carcass. Before he knows it he is redirecting the Kusanagi, only dimly aware of his actions. The blue flashes of light being refracted are the only thing suggesting his intention as the blade steers itself.

"Excuse me, you three…" the Hidden Sand shinobi speaks up for the first time, unexpectedly, just as Orochimaru is about to do something very foolish. "There is no need to fight over me like that."

All three of them snap their heads towards the man, only now realizing that somewhere along the escalation of the argument, he'd gone forgotten. Orochimaru looks at the Hidden Sand ninja with mild perplexity—he has crawled a few feet away from the quarrel, and is now sitting cross-legged like a sage, heels braced against the humid soil, puzzlingly unabashed by his broken bones, or this entire turn of events. Orochimaru takes notice that he hasn't moved to run, though not for lack of opportunity. His anger immediately rears its head again. Jiraiya's intervention could have cost them everything.

One of Jiraiya's clone-scouts touches down nearby and approaches the scene nonchalantly. "What's with all the fuss, people?"

"We've had a bit of a disagreement," the real Jiraiya answers, eyes still dark and weary, skipping worriedly between himself and Tsunade, who just stands there, eyes buried in the ground, unwittingly clutching the teal blue crystal hanging around her neck.

"I can see that someone's pouting alright!" Jiraiya's clone exclaims jovially, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. The contrast between the two versions of the same man is rather striking.

The real Jiraiya turns to the puppeteer. "Why didn't you attempt to escape?"

The man shrugs as if his single care in this world is to make himself comfortable in his improvised ground-dug seat. "Judging by your skill, I wouldn't be able to get all that far. I suppose I was in over my head taking you three on. I guess my sister is right when she says I'm more of a thinker than a fighter. When she isn't playing dead, that is. Besides, hearing you argue over me like that made me think that perhaps I had better odds at surviving if I didn't put up any resistance."

Jiraiya's features soften. "Clever man." He chuckles, locking his hands behind his white-maned head as he shifts back to his usual laid-back demeanor. "Have no worries. My friend here just has a flair for drama. You shan't find your death today, the great Jiraiya makes this solemn promise to you!"

An idea crosses Orochimaru's mind and he nods. "That's true. I see now that killing this man would be a fool's move."

Both Jiraiya and the clone look his way, surprised that he would be giving up on the bicker so easily. "Are you for real?"

"He is no doubt privy to some of the Hidden Sand's internal affairs. We should restrain him and torture him for information."

There is a moment of silence as both Jiraiya and his clone retain blank expressions. Then there's shouting and shrieking as loud as in the middle of any battleground they've ever been to.

"Orochimaru! _What the hell?!"_

"Just when I thought you were starting to make sense!"

"You damned incorrigible snake!"

"I'd rather peek on ugly girls than listen to a word you hiss!"

Orochimaru sighs and shushes them. "Quiet down, the two of you. You'll only draw in more enemies. And heaven forbid they're injured." He looks his teammate askance. "Lest you get the sudden urge to spend all our medical supplies on nursing them back to health."

Jiraiya dissolves his clone and brandishes an accusatory gloved finger at his dark-haired comrade. "Dummy up, you bastard. We've already made enough of an embarrassment out of ourselves in front of the Hidden Sand."

Orochimaru lifts his pale hands in a prompting fashion. "Then let us kill this man and forget this ever happened. The Hidden Sand never has to learn of your docility, Jiraiya."

Jiraiya's face turns as red as the markings slithering up his cheeks. "Just drop it, will you? It's not happening. Not everything has to go the way _you_ want it to."

"Not everything has to go the way _you'd_ have it, either. And do not assume to order me around."

"I'm clearly the more stable individual here!"

"You spy on women as they bathe."

"What does that have to do with anything?!"

"The both of you," Tsunade's uncompromising voice cuts in. Orochimaru tears his spiteful gaze from Jiraiya with some reluctance.

Tsunade is standing next to the concavity where the puppeteer has just been sitting, with her hand planted firmly on her hip. The Hidden Sand ninja is nowhere to be seen. They both stare at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I've already questioned him," she explains, "while the two of you were busy scratching each other's eyes out. His name was Ebizo. Brother to Chiyo."

A deep frown settles between Orochimaru's purple-outlined eyes, while Jiraiya's eyebrows shoot up. " _The_ Chiyo?" the toad-favorite exclaims. "The one whose poisons you've been countering since the beginning of the war?"

Tsunade nods her head, face impassive. "He voluntarily told me of a few of their former camp locations. Most of their teams are now headed south-east, back to the Land of the Wind. On the overall, the Hidden Sand seems to have suffered enough losses in this war and is starting to withdraw from the more saturated combat districts. I don't believe he was lying in telling me this, and quite frankly, I'm counting the days until we are wise enough do the same."

"Where is he, Princess?" Orochimaru asks, clenching his teeth for already knowing the answer.

"I let him go," she says without flinching, her fiery eyes locking with his narrowed hazel ones, burning with a powerful undertone. "And if you say another word about my brother, I'll rip your guts out with my bare hands."

And just like that, the argument is finished.

* * *

They are not speaking to him yet again. They are making their feelings known quite expressively this time around, turning back only to shower him with spates of vengeful glances.

Orochimaru could care less. He doesn't even have much patience for this pointless mission anymore. There's just going to be another one after that. And another. And another. Once they get back to the village, he intends to withdraw from his military duties for a while. He wishes to be left to his research.

Tsunade falls back at some point, flattening her shoulder to his as she falls in pace with him. She is purposefully averting her gaze and does not look him in the eye even as she speaks quietly.

"Orochimaru… Do you remember when you handed me this necklace?"

Her fingers trace invisible patterns along the surface of the precious crystal, as if to keep it close to her chest. He can see her fingertips are sporting an unnatural yellowish hue, possibly marred from extensive overuse of medical ninjutsu. Her knuckles are bruised from constantly being hammered into stone and flesh.

 _War does not agree with you_ _so well_ _, Princess._

"After you'd pulled it from Nawaki's corpse?" she carries on. "Do you remember how you _smirked_ at me?" Orochimaru says nothing. "...I really hated you for that."

* * *

A bird reaches them with word from the Hokage that they are to regroup. They are forced to veer and cross back half the country in order to team up with three more elite squads, then head back north-west. The news only serves to exacerbate Orochimaru's dark mood. Tsunade and Jiraiya share his displeasure, but they assume their teacher is taking such measures out of concern for his favorite pupils' safety. While there might be a grain of truth to this sentiment, Orochimaru sees a deeper reason. _You do not fancy allowing me to wander off without surveillance anymore, sensei..._ Trust is a fleeting thing, easily broken. Just like everything else the village is founded upon. Sometimes Orochimaru feels like he is the only one able to discern the sad truth: the entire village that they fight and put their lives at risk for is a political charade built on quicksand.

He keeps his musings to himself, this time. Discussing war's harsh nature is one thing. Condemning a system they work in favor of is another. His current string of thoughts could all too easily be read as threading conspiratorial waters, and he can't have that. At least not yet.

They travel to the place of the rendezvous in tentative silence. Even Jiraiya's scouting clones have grim expressions carved permanently onto their naturally cheerful faces. Tsunade mutters something about almost having rid herself of the accused rain, but her words get swallowed by the downpour.

The teams they meet up with all sport unfamiliar features. Orochimaru suspects they are ANBU, or of an equal rank. For all his faults and delusions Sarutobi-sensei would never send them inexperienced soldiers.

Their greetings are curt and formal. They are all confident in their individual skills, and it is as good as transparent that neither party is too thrilled to have travelled the extra way for this joining of forces.

They take a different route to the Land of the Earth this time, at the insistence of one of the teams that has been assigned a delivery mission to the outskirts of the Hidden Rain village.

Orochimaru does not like it one single bit. Unlike before when they had only grazed the outer rims of the Hidden Rain, they must now pierce right through the heart of the country. The closer they seesaw to the center, the greater the odds of encountering the single person in this wretched wasteland that they need to avoid by all means.

Hanzo of the Salamander... One day he might prove an interesting challenge for Orochimaru to take on. Right now, however, he feels wholly underprepared for a conflict with such a man. He is said to be as skilled as any Kage, if not more. Even if tales of the man himself are exaggerated, there is no mistaking the sheer expertise with which the bodies they send back to the Hidden Leaf have been robbed of their lives. Orochimaru knows a daunting enemy by the carnal stories of the corpses he leaves behind. And Hanzo's corpses tell impressive stories.

Orochimaru remains alert throughout the day, as the gloomy sky vomits its foul sorrow down on them, heedful eyes double-checking every little twig and pebble. He feels nearly as unprepared for facing this particular enemy as his teammates are for the dire truths of waging war.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** High five for longest chapter so far! I just sort of word-vomited it in a single go... could it be called binge-writing? Ah well. So yes, by the end of this chapter I suppose you can already tell what next chapter will be all about. To answer your unspoken question - yes, I do intend to make it awesome. Reviews are always a precious gift to me! You should know I practically live on those... No pressure.


	5. Let's Not Get Hit by Hanzo of the Rain

**4.** **Let's Not Get Hit by Hanzo of the Rain**

"You through with it, Orochimaru?"

Orochimaru hasn't a clue what Jiraiya could possibly be referring to by 'it', but even if it were otherwise he'd still make it a point to ignore the man. A tenuous fatigue from the days-long running is slowly beginning to gnaw his bones, pushing his mind that much farther from its sharpest point. He disrelishes it whenever he takes more than half a second to outfox his white-haired comrade. Besides, he has no desire to incur another round of inane squabbles and witty remarks, especially in front of the other platoons. Not that he particularly cares for their opinion, but he knows full well how reports will be handed in at the end of this, perhaps to reach the ears of the very people who already murmur his name in link to the Hokage title. Jiraiya might not pay heed to such things, but Orochimaru understands the importance of a team's good reputation, and the opportunities it presents to a savvy mind.

"Did you hear me?" Jiraiya keeps prattling, oblivious to his fellow teammate's growing urge to suffocate him in his sleep. "Ugh, are you actually ignoring me? Seriously, Orochimaru? After all we've been through?"

Orochimaru keeps his eyes stitched to the woeful scenery ahead of them. He counts the branches on the leafless trees that hem the road and fantasizes about them being sections of Jiraiya's broken arms.

"Hey, Orochimaru-boy…" his incurably stubborn teammate continues to pester him from a few feet behind. "You cute little snake-phiz… Orochi the prettiest face on the team… Talk to me or I'll start haranguing about your girly shampoo collection—"

Missions would be so much easier if Jiraiya had his lips sewn up. Any type of rusted cord would do, really. Alas, the Hidden Leaf won't tolerate that. Instead that mouth is free to part at will, flapping about a know-it-all tongue that never fails to hustle Orochimaru's steely patience to the white-hot brink of its limits.

"Knock it off, Jiraiya," Orochimaru turns his head to sibilate, porcelain face rumpled in ire. "I have no wish to consult you on any matter, now or in the near future."

"Gee, I suppose you _aren't_ through with it after all," Jiraiya mopes, drawing the puzzled gazes of their fellow Leaf jounin.

Orochimaru scowls, nearly able to sense the good impression crack and wither. Their fellow ninja must have expected a more magisterial demeanor from the renowned trio that are the Hokage's very own disciples. Instead they are met by Jiraiya and everything the man stands for. Orochimaru doesn't have to strain to imagine their letdown.

"Bottle up, you moron," Tsunade's grating yell explodes from the right. She has taken to a more daring route than the rest of them, one that winds through the branches of bare trees. She has been secluded from the squad's main body. Four of their allies surround her in a rim that cannot quite pass for loose.

The Princess is none too thrilled about it. It might appear to anyone else as if her dejection were simply due to her engrossment in the mission. But Orochimaru knows her well enough to pick up on the small changes in her posture—to him, she looks like an animal trapped, ready to lash out at the men boxing her in at any given moment.

It has been the other teams' solicitation that the medic should be kept apart from the combat unit. The Princess has not been in a happy mood since this particular verdict. Orochimaru has expected no less. He's never known his female comrade as one to sit quietly and endure the enforcement of other people's decisions over her. Jiraiya has also been staring daggers at the jounin who'd come up with this strategy. Orochimaru himself is none too pleased with the team being separated—time has proved that the three of them are much deadlier together than apart. But they're all aware this is no time for allies to contradict each other.

Tsunade though, Tsunade is angry for it, Orochimaru can tell. It is in the way she holds herself, setting the pace for the rest of the group as if to show she still dominates the lot of them. He finds it mildly amusing, the way the woman always pines to be in control of things, never willing to let up on even the smallest of matters, how ridiculously attached she is to the feeling of having circumstances at her beck and call. Perhaps that's what happens when a younger brother perishes on the watch of none other than a trusted teammate—one starts second-guessing anything and anyone they hold no sway over. Tsunade does just that, in her own futile attempt to cut loose from a past that's already been written in blood.

Orochimaru knows some part of her still blames him irrationally for her loss—he so talented, so skilled, and so completely incapable of preventing this tragedy.

 _War imprints all_ , he muses as he looks at her. This is simply one way it affects the fickle minds of humans. The death of a loved one is the ultimate manipulator for those imprudent enough to allow anyone into the privacy of their hearts. Orochimaru hopes, for the sake of Tsunade, that she will not be so foolish as to repeat the same mistake twice.

"You're disturbing our focus," his female teammate growls at Jiraiya as she skips through the trees in parallel with the rest of the group, a blurry profile claiming the pendulous black branches.

Jiraiya laughs, already over his sullen mood. His eyebrows wiggle suggestively, their owner oblivious to the storm Orochimaru can sense is roiling beneath Tsunade's exterior. "The only thing you need to focus on is me, you gorgeous, buxom little—"

There is a terrible crackle and Tsunade rips off a branch thrice her size with a single hand. She wigwags the enormous thing over her head like an atrocious demon limb. She looks every bit as intimidating in the backlight as Orochimaru knows her to be whenever Jiraiya piques her female dignity.

The four ninja that are her supposed defenders start back in unadulterated horror.

"Zip it, pervert!" the Princess yells dreadfully. "Or I throw this your way!"

"Apologize!" everyone snaps at Jiraiya, openly spooked by the raw manifestation of strength. Tsunade has always had this sort of effect on people—the woman has no trouble scaring a grown man stiff in a matter of seconds. Even Orochimaru can't help but feel a bit uneasy whenever their female counterpart falls into one of her moods.

Despite the battering rain and the splashing backdrop of their accelerated footsteps, Orochimaru can hear Jiraiya's distinctive gulp of fear as clearly as if it were his own throat swallowing the lump.

"Let me hear it!" Tsunade thunders, murder in her voice.

"I'm so sorry I showed you disrespect!" Jiraiya shrills quickly.

"What was that?"

"A woman is to be appreciated! My deepest apologies! Won't happen again!"

Tsunade gives Jiraiya a final brusque stare-down, lashing the trembling fool with her adamant eyes before she proceeds to forcefully discard the tremendous branch, as if for good measure. It plunks it into a nearby tree, efficiently destroying the right half of the road.

"If I so much as sense a perverted thought crossing your depraved mind, I'll geld you," she warns. It doesn't raise a moment's doubt in anybody's mind that she means it.

"Yes enchantress!"

Orochimaru dignifies the tomfoolery of his white-haired comrade with a _humph_ of indifference. Astonishingly, the man never seems to get through his head how provoking Tsunade like this is only bound to end in bones broken. To be fair Tsunade will almost always have a guilt trip afterwards and nurse the fool back to health, or at the very least mumble a half-hearted apology to his unconscious anatomy. Then he'd say or do something to irritate her and it would be the same thing all over again. Orochimaru can never quite make sense of his teammates' odd, wayward relationship.

Jiraiya catches up to him at some point, digressing from the rest of the group. Orochimaru side eyes him venomously when he feels the whiff of a hot breath inappropriately close to his dangling earring.

"Fall back in formation and do not speak to me—" His teammate's face has lost its conviviality. There is a troubled notch fitted in-between his furrowed eyebrows. Orochimaru stirs. "What is it, Jiraiya?"

"One of my clones just got taken down," Jiraiya murmurs grimly, voice quiet so that his words get swept by the wind before they can kite back to the tail wreathing behind them.

Orochimaru's eye glints. The fine hairs on his neck form alerted prickles. "Who…?"

"I don't know, but they're good. Very good. Stealthy as heck. They came out of nowhere, as if they knew exactly what to go for. I… I think someone's given away our position."

The members of their twelve-man cell are the only ones who keep constant track of their updated location. Orochimaru narrows his serpentine eyes, already calculating the chances of one of them working for the Hidden Rain.

"Tsunade—" Jiraiya huffs over labored breaths. His eyes wander off to their female comrade and the men girting her. "We have to warn Tsunade—"

Orochimaru himself is having a hard time catching his breath. Then it all dawns on him. "Don't breathe in, Jiraiya!"

The haphazard of the gaseous poison fades into the background as the earth beneath their feet begins to snarl and rearrange itself. The ground roars and trees keel over. Wind and dirt attack Orochimaru's vision. Too many objects flying in the air, too many things happening at once—

The soil parts to reveal the beginnings of a creature no less than double the size of Manda, a man ennobling its moss green head. A tall, muscular man with a mask, and the eyes of an executioner.

Orochimaru gnashes his teeth. He is as close to cursing as he'll ever get.

Amidst the ruckus, the creature's gaping mouth is black and round as the center of the world, and the center of the world rushes to meet them.

Orochimaru jumps left, Jiraiya jumps right. There is some shouting.

Orochimaru is exasperated by the sheer stupidity of those who emit such sounds. To shout is to waste breath. It is common knowledge among Hidden Leaf jounin that breathing around this particular enemy equals death. The dull thuds indicating the slumping of bodies only goes to prove what they've been told. What has Sarutobi-sensei been thinking, sending over weaklings and traitors to be their aid?

"Ah, it's always the quiet ones…" Hanzo of the Salamander rumbles pensively from the head of his great lizard as he surveys the few jounin who remain undamaged. The visible section of the man's face is as unreadable as the one plated in metal. His gaze lingers on Orochimaru and his teammates—who have ended up on the other side of the flattened field—for a second before he crosses his arms, respirating deeply into his mask. The act exudes a film of invisible poison Orochimaru is only able to sense through the flit of his tongue; deadly.

"Hm. Ninja of the Leaf these days… Not much different from dogs," the Hidden Rain leader resounds. "The loudest barkers are least prepared to shed blood. I already have the feeling you three will be this battle's saving grace. Do well not to disappoint me."

There is no need to point fingers. All eyes are on the scattered members of team Hiruzen.

Orochimaru assesses the state of their platoon. At least three dead, another half a dozen writhing in seizures. The rest are looking between Hanzo and the members of team Hiruzen with a good dose of fear, the most pathetic glimmer of doe-eyed hope contorting their nondescript faces whenever they meet Orochimaru's cool gaze. _Fool over fool._

Up in the distance, Orochimaru surveys his teammates. Jiraiya is on his knees but Tsunade's palms are already glow-worming protectively over his back as the two struggle to hold on to their breath.

What makes a more immediate impression on Orochimaru is that they are one man short. _So the_ _rat_ _runs_ _to hide behind Hanzo's skirts..._ They will do well to seek out and capture him, that one. And make him talk. There just might turn out to be something deeper to this act of treachery than meets the eye. If they manage to survive the more immediate threat posed by the most powerful man in the country and his giant summoning, that is.

Orochimaru gives out a hiss, the sound continued naturally by one of his snake familiars that coils hostilely around the stem of his calf. Now that the worst possible scenario has come to be, a plan needs to be devised. As per usual, it falls on him to take the initiative.

Had Orochimaru embarked on this mission alone, he would have no doubt worked out some strategy to avoid combat. Perhaps he would switch allegiances and double-cross the Hidden Rain at a later date. But now that he has his teammates to account for, such a plot is out of the question. They'd never agree to it, and they can't well get their individual stories straight across a battlefield anyway.

Orochimaru strains his eyes to get a better look at his teammates. Tsunade seems to be holding up fine, and Jiraiya appears to be recovering now, thanks to whatever Tsunade is doing. Orochimaru feels oddly appeased to see this. It goes to prove they can deal with the poison, he rationalizes. Those two are unlikely to be a burden to him. For whatever reason, he'd rather not abandon them to their fate now.

They will have to make do with his other plan, then.

His lungs are beginning to clench around their oxygen-depraved insides. He knows he needs to get to Tsunade as quickly as possible. Seeing as it's two of them over there and one of him here, Orochimaru assumes he'll be the one to cross over the distance to his teammates.

He can't exactly go about it forthright, as it is precisely what Hanzo anticipates him to do now that he has figured out the three of them are a team. Instead, he leaps up. His body rockets towards the head of the great lizard to the accompaniment of Tsunade's horrified shriek and Jiraiya's yell of, 'don't, you greedy moron'.

Orochimaru ignores them. He waves a few hand seals, calling upon his lesser snakes to flow out from his sleeves. The reptiles hiss and gape, barring their poisonous bite at the Hidden Rain despot as they wrap themselves around his broad plate-armored torso.

Hanzo exhales and the snakes sizzle in agony. Their bodies crumple from the carcinogenic poison that is far superior to their own. Orochimaru pries his arms free of his spoilt familiars right before the lethal effect reaches his flesh.

Next, he takes advantage of his protractible tongue to manacle his enemy's ankles. He has been hoping to disrupt Hanzo's balance with the sudden pull, but the man shows no outer signs of being close to bulging. The entire ordeal only serves to send Orochimaru spinning, but he supposes it will fit his purpose just as well.

Orochimaru twists his body mid-air to escape the foul heat of the giant lizard's mouth. The same noxious poison skins through on his elongated tongue, corroding the flesh there. He plants his palms and soles on the summoning's underbelly, concealed from Hanzo's view.

 _Careful, now_ , Orochimaru thinks to himself as the beast stirs. He pulls out several explosive tags and wills a few of his quickest adders to swallow them whole. He sends them slithering around the girth of the beast while thinking nothing of their imminent sacrifice. Once they reach their target, they self-detonate with a subdued burst.

A bright red tinge illuminates the thick side of the lizard. Smoke reaches up for the sky.

Orochimaru waits. And waits. Nothing. The beast makes no sound, does not move a muscle. Orochimaru has not expected it or Hanzo to go down this easily, but it is something he had to try to gauge the scale of the creature's defenses. As expected from Hanzo's personal summoning, it doesn't fail to deliver.

Just as he is about to withdraw, a tongue not unlike his own, only far more massive, slants towards him.

Orochimaru pushes himself away from the large calloused body, narrowly escaping being smeared into a bloody compound by the great tongue. His oxygen-deprived body is a few seconds away from going into spasming. Orochimaru retracts his tongue from around Hanzo's ankles and swallows it back in his mouth, but not before licking his lips in excitement, taking a twisted pleasure in being physically challenged. This battle is still child play. He can enjoy this for now, while both sides are still testing.

Hair whipping like a black spider in the wind, Orochimaru finds his feet again as he lands gracefully on the fluctuating tongue. He uses the pickup of its retraction to shoot up towards Hanzo.

Hanzo of the Salamander seems as unfazed as ever even in the face of a direct attack. His arms hang impassively at his sides with no indication of performing any hand seals.

Orochimaru narrows his eyes.

Hanzo's right hand flits; only the briefest of motions, as if to fend off a pesky fly. It is a moment after that Orochimaru hears the clanking of chains and next there is a sharp penetration to his half-exposed side. His ribs ebb to make room for the pointy end of a sickle. His body hangs in the air numbly, a pendulum of flesh and bone.

The _kusarigama_ the Hidden Rain leader is renowned for wielding with great skill bites into Orochimaru's flesh hungrily. A deep, strangled grunt tears from the recess of his throat.

"Orochimaru!" Jiraiya and Tsunade screech at the same time.

But Orochimaru's scraping sounds slowly dissolve into sinister chuckles.

"Don't breathe in you stupid snake!" Jiraiya shouts out.

Hanzo's eyes constrict, then expand, the unusual dark sclera surrounding his irises flaring with something of a curiosity. "Do you find your own death amusing, young one?"

Orochimaru's clone thaws into a puff of smoke, but not before thoroughly dragging his tongue across the poison-sodden length of the _kusarigama_.

"Not at all," the real Orochimaru says as he saunters into view from behind his teammates, causing them both to startle. "If anything, I find it rather inconvenient. I intend to take great care in delaying it..." His lips curve upwards even as the first coughs rupture through him, lungs burning up in demand of air. "Perhaps even go as far as escape it."

Hanzo's penetrating gaze drifts over Orochimaru's malicious expression, as if trying to decide whether it's the talk of a madman or something more. "Curious."

As expected, most of their fellow Leaf jounin leap forward in an attempt to seize the opening created by Hanzo's seeming distraction. Orochimaru hopes they die slowly and buy his team enough time to go over something of a strategy.

Of course Jiraiya has other plans.

Orochimaru puts a firm hand on his ally's shoulder before the man can take a step forward. "They can't…" Cough. "…be helped…" Cough. "…Jiraiya…"

The world begins to jitter somewhere behind his eyelids.

"Orochimaru!" Tsunade stammers as she immediately begins applying chakra to his chest and throat, tincturing his skin with what Orochimaru dubs some sort of pressure seals. "He's right, Jiraiya," she mutters quietly. "They can't fight alongside us. Just… tell them to make a run for it. We won't tell Sarutobi-sensei they fled or anything."

Jiraiya appears to be equally shocked and disgusted by the both of them. "What the hell, people?! They're Leaf ninja, they won't _flee_ even if I tell them to. They'll fight to the death just like us. C'mon, we need to lend them a hand now. These are our _comrades_ we're talking about."

Orochimaru fizzles, hating this disability to articulate himself a great deal more than the burning pain in his chest. "The same…" Cough. "Comrades…" Cough. "Who betrayed…" Cough. "Our position…" Cough. "In the first place…" Violent cough, followed by near-throes.

"Stay still, you!" Tsunade scolds as she resumes her work on the seals. "Jiraiya," she addresses their teammate without meeting his judgmental gaze. "Send out a clone to lend them a hand if you will… But if you go there yourself without a plan, so help me… you're on your own."

Jiraiya purses his lips, but creates a clone. When he speaks, his tone is full of bitterness that is so very unlike him, it's positively jarring when he gives voice to it. "You two… I expected better from you."

He surprises the both of them immensely when his real self leaps into the doomed battle, leaving behind his other personification.

Despite the agonizing pain, Orochimaru rolls his eyes in annoyance. Tsunade's teeth are gritting so tightly he fears she might break them. "That goddamned, _honorable_ _IDIOT_ …"

"I can still hear you, you realize," Jiraiya's clone grumbles peevishly.

"Shut the hell up," Tsunade barks. "I need my focus, can't you see Orochimaru is about to pass out?" A hand smacks Orochimaru's cheek lightly. It is after the world comes back into focus that he realizes the truth of her statement. "You just get lost already!" Tsunade is shouting at their teammate. Orochimaru blinks, straining to remain conscious. By happy chance Tsunade's yells are—as usual—loud enough to wake the dead. "Dumb pervert, go on, go be the dead hero you've always dreamt to be!"

Jiraiya's voice softens ever so slightly. "Not a hero, Tsunade. Just a decent guy. And as long as the real me is fighting out there… I'm not going anywhere, lass. I'm staying right here at your side. Even if the two of you can be such giant schmucks sometimes… I still care, and I'm still _your_ idiot."

Tsunade half-growls, half-moans something inarticulate. In any case she sounds miserable. She is desperately trying to conceal the tremble in her usually sure hands, Orochimaru can tell. She should know by now nothing gets past her dark-haired teammate. Even if he is on the verge of suffocating.

 _You fear this enemy, Princess… You fear what he might do to what's left of your loved ones._

Her fears are not unwarranted. Hanzo is strong, and even Orochimaru is not certain whether they can—or indeed should—take him on.

When she is done placing the seals, she finally mumbles, "You… Just don't worry us like that again, will you? Now breathe."

Orochimaru nods as he finally allows himself a long breath, dispersing his light-headedness. He is quite surprised to hear her concern, which appears to be nothing short of genuine. A few minutes ago, she wouldn't even say a word to him.

"I thought you were rather offended with me for what I said earlier, Princess."

He doesn't specify _how much_ earlier.

Tension is heavy between them as a single drop of sweat rolls between the Princess' knotted eyebrows.

"Friends forgive," she says finally, and the statement holds a certain sense of finality and commitment to it that leaves Orochimaru fairly uncomfortable and slightly dumbfounded. "Now, I've placed chakra filters on your respiratory tract, so pretty much nothing should be able to go into your system that isn't oxygen. We'll still need to be careful around his liquid poisons though. And the gas will still be able to penetrate our bodies through open wounds, so whenever you two get blood on you, even if it's only a scratch, come to me immediately."

"You hear what the Princess said, Jiraiya?" Orochimaru hisses, knowing the reckless temperament of his white-haired teammate all too well. "We have to come to her _immediately_. Do tell that to the other you, in case he's interested in living through this."

"Yes yes, I heard her, damn it," Jiraiya's clone grunts out. Out of the three of them, he might be the only one not to realize the gravity of the situation they are in. Or perhaps he simply disguises his apprehensions best. The fact that he hasn't vanished means his real self must be holding up for now. Orochimaru is reluctant to admit his teammate is lasting longer than his own clone. Not that it means anything. "I'm not _that_ dumb, you know," Jiraiya's alter-ego hums defensively.

Orochimaru's pale lips form a semblance of a smile. "So it seems." He turns to Tsunade. "Hanzo's tools and weapons are soaked with poison too, Princess, my clone has affirmed that. What can we do to counter that?"

Tsunade's jaw clenches. "We'll just have to… not get hit, I suppose."

"Alright then!" Jiraiya's clone cries out as the three of them go over the final overview of their plan and prepare to join the battle. Orochimaru finds this display of enthusiasm downright ridiculous amidst the dire circumstances, but he makes no mention of it, merely giving out his usual unmoved _humph_. "Let's not get hit by Hanzo of the Rain!"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Gosh, is it just me or are these chapters getting longer and longer?! Yep, probably just word counter's wild imagination... Anyway, I'd deliver my apologies for taking over a week to update, but I think I have something else to tell you guys that would be far more sincere: y'all better get used to it, because school does not care for the feelings of its seniors. Whelp. So yeah, that's that. Reviews are love and see you next chapter, where the Sannin-to-be are in for some tough decision-making!


	6. Uncovering Hanzo's Vulnerability

**V.  
Uncovering Hanzo's Vulnerability**

Their plan isn't working.

Well, Orochimaru's plan isn't working. Not that it's a bad plan. On the contrary, it has been rather shrewd. It is the enemy's skill that transcends their capability of executing it correctly and to the letter. At least his teammates seem to grasp this, and have the decency to refrain from criticizing their dark-haired comrade for their joined failure.

The plan has been simple: defeat Hanzo, escape if impracticable. To accomplish the former, they need to get close to the man. To drive up to him, they mostly need to make certain he doesn't have a giant, thick scaled salamander beneath his feet to wreak havoc across what's left of their squadron (which isn't much). Most of their fellow jounin have ended up blanketing the moist ground with their stilled bodies, some dead, some paralyzed, some in a bludgeoned condition Orochimaru hasn't quite the name for.

Their deaths don't come as a surprise, despite Jiraiya and Tsunade's best effort to work with the worms. Orochimaru does not even attempt to feign sympathy. It isn't like he hasn't warned them not to get invested in these inferior creatures.

They have tried to dispose of the wart-overgrown salamander through various contrivances, from powerful ninjutsu to the contract sealing jutsu Orochimaru has been researching prior to being sent out on this mission. None of it has proven worthwhile. The great lizard is as unmovable as the sense of foreboding its master instills into the hearts of his enemies.

It's a jeopardous pet to have, through and through. Orochimaru would love to attempt bending it to his will, if just to witness Manda's jealousy, but this is no time for experimenting. _No_ , Orochimaru thinks, licking his lips. _This is the time to put all previous experiments to proper use._ He admits to being rather curious as to how far his current skill will get him when pitted against such a high-level enemy.

They have not resorted to calling on their own summonings for fear of how their bodies might react to the gaseous poison that the lizard and its owner breathe out on a steady basis. Tsunade has shamefacedly admitted to have cut on studying amphibian anatomy, so she can neither place seals nor predict the effect of the powerful bane on any of them. Orochimaru has insisted on conjuring them to the battlefield anyway, but he has been met by a headstrong opposition. Unlike him and Manda, Jiraiya and Tsunade seem to share something of a comradeship with their summonings, and they are unwilling to gamble like this with their lives. Summoning Manda alone would accomplish nothing against an enemy of this level, and if the venom does prove to be fatal for the great serpent, it would have been a waste of a powerful contract.

In the meantime, Hanzo has kept himself busy. The man has stayed clear of Tsunade's groundbreaking blows, countered Jiraiya's flame bullets with a water dragon technique that has been further aided by the ever-battering rain, deflected the dexterous whiplash of Orochimaru's half-ophidian form—a modification to his lower body he has used in hopes to amplify his speed of pursuit—and even caused him to nearly break to smithereens into Tsunade.

Orochimaru has been forced to self-smash into a nearby rock as not to render them deprived of their medical ninja.

It has not been a pleasant impact.

He curses under his breath as he pushes himself to his feet, the ruined flesh on his face along with the pang of his crushed cheekbone giving rise to a low hiss. His snake tail retracts with squishy sounds that make Tsunade's worried face sag in a sickened fashion. Orochimaru pays no heed to her womanish qualms.

"Heal me, Tsunade," he impels, all the while regarding the Hidden Rain despot skeptically. The man is too quick by half. He doesn't merely stand stationary atop his lizard's head, no, he moves around in speeds even Orochimaru can barely follow, and his Body Flicker Technique is the finest the snake jounin has ever witnessed. They'll need something special to outmaneuver him.

Mud clings to his lower legs like wet cement, forcing him to send chakra to his feet to counter the vexatious inconvenience. With this man, every slight disadvantage could escalate into a sudden and tormenting death, so Orochimaru cannot afford even the smallest of details to slip into neglect.

"Your biophysical competency is most impressive," Hanzo's deep voice rumbles as his scarred eye locks on Tsunade. "It is not every day that someone manages to withstand my gaseous poison, heal various wounds with such proficiency and still be an active part of the battlefield."

Tsunade stands straight, lip jutting forward in mistrust, clearly taking the compliment with a grain of salt.

"I might not look it, but I know the human body inside out," she shouts out at Hanzo more bravely than the slight tremble in her voice suggests. "I am a medical ninja of the Hidden Leaf. Our leaders have been fighting to bring about peace among the great nations for generations, and we have inherited their will of fire. You better not underestimate us."

"Will of fire?" Hanzo queries, sounding unimpressed. "They have filled your head with delusions, girl. You three are strong, but you remain pawns, doomed to wage the war of your superiors not knowing why it has been ignited, or to what end. So you make up your own reasons and surround yourselves with invalid arguments and false principles like this 'will of fire' that I hear of so often from Leaf underlings' final breath.

"But I am here to deliver harsh truths. And the truth of the matter is that we are all fighting in a conflict that the Hidden Leaf has single-handedly started."

Tsunade's clear amber eyes widen, Orochimaru's stained golden ones narrow. If Hanzo speaks the truth, then Orochimaru has just had something confirmed that has been circling his mind for a long while. The nature of their stealthy mobilization, the way shinobi were roused from their sleep in the middle of the night and sent to remote battlefronts with no further explanation, the sheer incompleteness in Sarutobi-sensei's somber murmur of 'war has been declared', it all adds up to one logical deduction: that the Hidden Leaf has been this war's initiator indeed.

Certainly it cannot be Sarutobi-sensei's word that got the wheel of blood and slaughter spinning. Orochimaru knows the man to be far too removed from a warlike mindset. The snake jounin makes it a point to store this piece of information for later pondering. Who else has such great leverage within the village as to contradict the Hokage's very own beliefs? Who is this shadow that pulls the strings in the dark? Orochimaru will make sure to find out for himself, and somehow angle the discovery to his advantage.

"You think we'd take your word for it over our sensei's?" Jiraiya snarls angrily, blocking the death-dealing drag of the _kusarigama_ with a gauntleted forearm as he skims across the muddy field. "The Hokage has no part in starting this war! Our only wish is to end it swiftly and secure peace to our and all other villages!"

Orochimaru is too far away to smack the idiot, or he would, for giving away their identity so freely. Being the Hokage's very own students is a precarious anathema to carry in this land, perhaps even more so than the Hidden Leaf symbol carved on the metal plates of their visors. Their deaths will carry a political meaning, now, a powerful message, making it all the less likely for Hanzo to let up on this battle, or grow neglectful enough for them to escape.

"I am about to kill you, boy," Hanzo responds evenly, "and I have no reason to lie. But I do not need to explain myself to you. Take the truth and make of it what you will. I do not intend to let you live for much longer either way."

"Heh," Jiraiya mocks with his typical brashness. "You said yourself you were impressed with our medical ninja. I should tell you that my sneaky teammate and I are no wimps either. We'll see who defeats who."

"Hm. Your overconfidence might be misplaced but it is quite commendable. However… Surviving is one thing. Winning is another. Let us see how you three will fare with a higher level assault."

Hanzo's gloved hands wave a few signs as his upper body bends forward. The cloak covering his wetsuit-like attire whips behind him and the spikes of his pale hair bristle from the inflow of chakra. Orochimaru recognizes the sequence of seals as an exceptionally dangerous one. He stirs.

"Finish up, Princess," he hisses agitatedly as Tsunade hurriedly winds up on his broken cheek.

When she is finished, she turns to trace the line of his stern gaze. Her eyes widen as she instinctively clutches the rough fabric covering Orochimaru's biceps. A wave of explosive tags is rapidly heading towards them, like a paper ghoul taking shape. It's one of Hanzo's signature attacks, one Orochimaru knows to have claimed the lives of almost as many of their fellow countrymen as the entire Hidden Rain's military force put together.

"Summon Katsuyu, Princess," Orochimaru commands as they dash away from the swarming bulge, only to be cut short by another wave approaching from behind, effectively trapping them in. "Tell her to shield us in her body."

Tsunade shakes her head vigorously. "The poison's still out there! I'm not risking her life!"

"Summon her or we will be forfeiting our own."

Tsunade's hands shake at her sides, but don't conjoin to perform the hand seals. For a brief second, Orochimaru ponders whether to force them together himself, but ultimately decides against it.

They are a mere instance away from a fatal impact, and there is no time to deal with her meekness. Orochimaru smudges a blood stain from his cheek and slams his hands in the dirt, quickly summoning Manda. Before the great serpent can realize what's happening, Orochimaru has already pulled himself and Tsunade inside of its dark damp mouth, her bracing against him as the force of the blast shakes them with the volume of an earthquake.

They are saved by the grace of the purple-scaled snake's slyness alone, as it must have conformed to go underground just before the blast hit them, or else it would not be able to move the vigorous way Orochimaru senses that it does.

"I'll eat you and your entire village for this, Orochimaru," Manda fizzles as he reemerges aboveground and they crawl out of his mouth and into a dense cloud of smoke. Orochimaru has had his apprehensions about the great serpent keeping them trapped inside of it as punishment, but fortunately even Manda does not seem to be quite this insensitive.

"You shall be greatly rewarded for this, I assure you," Orochimaru retorts slickly, ignoring Tsunade's recoiling form as she tries to scrub herself clean of the snake's juices.

"Tsk!" Manda seethes as he flicks his tongue dangerously. "Your great rewards are getting trivial. Summoning me twice in a single week is a new level of audacity, even for you."

"What does he mean 'twice'?" Jiraiya asks as he emerges from the ground as well, unwrapping himself from his protective Needle Jizo encasement. Tsunade exhales in relief as she walks up to him in hectic strides and covers his bruise-speckled side with green-hued palms.

"Oh?" Manda is quick to catch on, as usual. "Haven't told them, eh, Orochimaru?"

"Tell us what?" Jiraiya asks with a frown.

 _This is bad._ If they learn the truth of what he has done with those Hidden Stone weaklings, it might upset their teamwork, and that is the last thing they need right now. Orochimaru casts Manda a rare menacing glare, serpentine eyes coldly clashing with their identical copies. There is danger in the snake's gaze, and promise of a greater haphazard in Orochimaru's. The snake appears to be on the fence for an instant, but then it slightly folds its oblong body and gives out a quiet hiss, its sign of relenting.

"Nothing important," Manda grumbles.

Orochimaru threads a hand through his matted hair, taking a mental note to later work on his summoning's flailing discipline. "Alright then, Jiraiya, Tsunade… I think Manda has been functioning in this environment long enough to deduct the poison has no lethal effect on him."

"Poison?!" Manda coils hostilely. "So that's the foul stench I've been sensing on my tongue all along! You insolent whoreson! You called me out here to be your test subject! And how foolish of you to think such trifling things would faze me in the first place. I am Manda, the great serpent of Ryuchi Cave. These venoms have nothing on me!"

Orochimaru ignores the snake's fuming and urges his teammates to conjure their own sworn summonings. "Clearly their bodies work differently from our own. It's safe to assume Katsuyu and Gamabunta will have no trouble withstanding the gas either. Now hurry, before the smoke dissipates."

Jiraiya and Tsunade nod to each other and wave the hand signs in unison. Orochimaru takes his place atop Manda's head, dismissing its sounds of discontent.

"Summoning jutsu!"

When the curls of smoke clear, there is a prodigious salamander towering imperiously on a battlefield covered with half-buried corpses, and a toad, a slug, and a serpent challenging its dominance.

"I am deeply impressed," Hanzo says solemnly.

Wind rasps through the field, whipping through golden, white and raven hair, whispering ominously into tensed ears.

"Get ready to be impressed some more," Jiraiya declares resolutely, grown fully serious. "Some oil, Bunta!"

"You don't have to tell me," the great toad answers, already inflating with a rising bladder of oil. "Fire Release: Toad Oil Flame Bullet!"

Hanzo's salamander dives underground a split of a second before the enriched flames of Jiraiya's two-way cooperation jutsu engulf it.

The lizard erupts right under Katsuyu, but the slug has already dispersed, half of it pulling away to reassume a larger form, the other half disintegrating in a gruesome acidic mash as it penetrates the lizard's gaping mouth. For the first time, they hear the salamander's wail of agony, but it quickly settles down as the toxins stored in its oral cavity cause Katsuyu's minions to molder away before they can deal any severe damage. The great slug's bits evaporate in a puff of smoke before they can be annihilated completely.

"I'm sorry, Katsuyu," Orochimaru hears Tsunade mutter quietly as she pats her summoning, now half its initial size.

"It's alright, lady Tsunade," the slug reassures gently. "My fragments will be reassembled safely in the Shikkotsu Forest."

Hanzo's lizard moves to devour the rest of the slug, only to be thrust aside by the rolling boulder of Gamabunta's bulk. The toad draws its sword with a deafening screech and hops forward with an agility that contradicts its size.

Orochimaru looks down at Manda. "We should be joining in too."

The purple snake narrows its eyes up at its master. "You have some nerve, summoning me to such a troublesome place. I demand no less than fifty sacrifices for this. And they better be fat and porky. I'm tired of devouring half-starved babes and feeble oldsters."

"As you wish."

They lash forward gracefully as Manda stretches to his full length. Orochimaru narrows his eyes at the pleasant sensation of forcefully induced wind chanting their acceleration in his face.

Gamabunta's greatsword catches between the salamander's neck and shoulder, drawing a long red notch along its side. The lizard gives out a shriek, but wraps its tongue around the handle of the sword, snatching it from the frog's grasp and angling it down towards its original wielder. Manda uses the distraction to wrap himself neatly around the enemy creature. Orochimaru is stunned to see the snake is barely long enough to coil around half of the salamander's body.

Gamabunta takes advantage of the foe's immobility and makes to reach for his sword but the salamander flicks its tongue, jerking the weapon out of grasp. The frog chortles. "So that's how you want to play, eh?"

It flogs its own protractible tongue, chastising the salamander right across the rotary eye. It gives out an ugly sound and almost drops the sword, but manages to keep it. All the while, it keeps putting up a token resistance against Manda's restraint. Orochimaru finds the beast's tenacity thoroughly impressive.

Faced with the deadlock, Hanzo leaps in the air without warning. His explosive tags rush at Jiraiya while his _kusarigama_ directs itself towards Orochimaru _._ Jiraiya jumps over the explosion and Orochimaru ducks under the sickle, on the lookout for the weapon's reverse trajectory as it decimates the air right over his head. No cuts, Tsunade has said. Not even a flesh-wound.

Both he and Jiraiya dash forward, facing off with Hanzo in a close-ranged exchange across the backs of their squabbling summonings. The man takes them on simultaneously without showing any outer signs of being inconvenienced. Having to cope with the unpredictable chain-sickle is almost like fighting a separate person, so the numbers are more or less evened.

Orochimaru's breathing is growing more rapid with each passing second. He rarely sweats, but he can feel a thin film break over his forehead now, plastering strands of black hair to his face.

 _Think_ , Orochimaru wills himself. _Search for a weakness._

Every man has a weakness. Orochimaru knows this, because he is going to be the first man to have none. Some are merely better at concealing it than others.

 _Concealing…_

Orochimaru's eyes widen as realization hits him. Now that he sees it, it seems so very obvious. It has been right there in front of them, really. The one thing that the man has been concealing the whole time also happens to be the ultimate source of his poison—his lower face. _Now why would you do that unless you needed mechanical aid in controlling it?_

Orochimaru cannot know its purpose for certain, but the man has donned the mask for a reason. They shall simply have to discover what his vulnerability is once they've peeled it off his face.

Orochimaru can't help the satisfied stretch of his lips. He stirs the combat closer to his white-haired teammate until they are fighting shoulder to shoulder so that he can hiss in his ear, "The mask, Jiraiya!"

Jiraiya doesn't question, just dips his head in curt acknowledgement.

Tsunade flies into view, yelling something to Jiraiya. He nods and ebbs from Hanzo, grabbing her by the bandage-cinched ankle mid-air and spinning her expeditiously. He mouths a single word of instruction to her as he precipitates her towards the lizard, allowing for her chakra-fueled feet to use him as a springboard. Hanzo's chain-commanding arm moves to fling the _kusarigama_ in attempt to prevent her from advancing _,_ but Orochimaru manages to read his intentions this time around and quickly lengthens his sleeves into snakes, arresting the troublesome limb.

Jiraiya's bone-white ponytail tapers into needles and he horsewhips it towards Hanzo, forcing the taller man to start back in order to avoid being decapitated. Tsunade uses this window to wrench Gamabunta's greatsword from the salamander, putting all of her monstrous strength into smashing it back horizontally into the softer flesh of its underbelly.

"Careful with my tail you artless cow!" Manda jitters, still tightening his grip on the squirming lizard, preventing it from digging its way out of the generated predicament.

"Let's finish this, Orochimaru, Tsunade!" Jiraiya yells.

 _Yes_ , Orochimaru thinks, fully aware that they probably won't get a better chance than this. _Let us finish._

He wraps his tongue around Tsunade and slams her fist-first into Hanzo. The man dodges the deadly blow by tilting his upper body to the side. He concomitantly pulls Orochimaru off balance by the snake extensions that are still coiled firmly around his wrist. Orochimaru hisses as he hears the _kusarigama_ clank spitefully towards him.

He can feel Tsunade's strong hands grabbing hold of his tongue, and allows them to alter his trajectory in a rare act of fully entrusting another human being with his life.

He does not enjoy it and wouldn't do it if it were not absolutely necessary, but even so… As the sickle blurs safely past him, he decides he'd sooner place his life in the hands of his teammates than anyone else.

He lets Tsunade feel the hitch of his tongue and she catches the drift, releasing it while he is still in the air. Orochimaru retracts his tongue and replaces it with the Kusanagi, spitting it out and wrapping seasoned hands around its handle as he comes down on Hanzo at a frantic pace. Orochimaru does not flinch away from the rain of thin white needles Jiraiya is peppering the area with, trusting his teammate to have estimated the landing spot of each and every pointed pin.

Caught between Orochimaru's spinning blade and a shower of flecking needles, Orochimaru can tell that Hanzo is forced to put all of his skill and agility to use. Orochimaru flicks his tongue in excitement. _Two you can handle…_

Both Orochimaru and Jiraiya jump away at the same time, knowing what's coming from above, a heartbeat before Tsunade crashes her Heavenly Foot of Pain down hard.

 _…but what about three?_

Hanzo dips back at the last moment, but the graze of Tsunade's swooping foothill over his front is enough to drag the two-cartridge mask down along with the motion of her bruising kick.

Hanzo makes a sound deep in his throat. Orochimaru quickly yanks Tsunade away with his elongated tongue before the _kusarigama_ can bite into her.

"Careful, Princess," he purrs in a velvety voice, causing a slight blush to bloom on her flushed face. "We don't want a sickle scathing that beautiful face beyond repair, do we?"

"T-thanks…"

Orochimaru smiles with latent malice that is lost on his female teammate. It might appear to the blonde woman as if he were joyous to see her out of harm's way, but really, he is just elated to finally have a swing at exploring Hanzo's vulnerability.

The Hidden Rain leader rushes towards them without preamble, face fully revealed, zigzagging in a complicated track as his hands wave a sequence of water release seals.

"Not so fast!" Tsunade screams as she pushes herself off Gamabunta's head, which is where they have landed, and lunges at Hanzo. Orochimaru can't help but notice her confidence has somewhat grown over the course of the battle.

He hums his approval and joins her, catching a glimpse of Jiraiya doing the same out of his peripheral vision. The three of them tackle their opponent in an impeccably coordinated hand-to-hand onset. In time, Orochimaru takes notice that the man will counter any ninjutsu, but is taking extra care in avoiding direct physical blows. The snake jounin's clever serpentine eyes form guileful slits.

He exchanges a brief glance with Jiraiya, mouthing 'plan Sigma' to him. Jiraiya nods his head and the two of them fence Hanzo in with their bodies. Hanzo sweeps his sickle in a roundhouse. They both dodge and Orochimaru successfully catches hold of the elusive chain, feeling the metal slide between his deft fingers, not unlike one of his colder snakes.

Jiraiya pulls Hanzo in with his Needle Jizo technique and encases him in it, while Orochimaru transforms his feet into a snake tail once more, crawling laterally towards them. He partially dissolves into a mush of mud and clings tightly to Hanzo's feet, immobilizing him.

"This will not be enough to keep me—" Hanzo begins, but then Gamabunta's tongue wraps itself around Jiraiya's needle stockade, reinforcing it, and Katsuyu merges her minions with the viscosity of Orochimaru's jutsu.

"Hm," the imprisoned master of poisons says, bringing two fingers in front of face, igniting his explosive tags. The blowout bursts through the many-layered confinement like multiple orange boils.

Orochimaru and Jiraiya pull away, and that is when Orochimaru hauls the chain of the _kusarigama_ , catching Hanzo off-guard. As Orochimaru has guessed, the man has been so preoccupied dealing with the four-way incarceration, he's stopped charging stabilizing chakra to his feet, momentarily losing that unmovable stasis of his.

The jerk earns Orochimaru no more than a slight involuntary step. Just a stammer. That is enough.

"Now, Princess!"

"Eat this!" Tsunade hollers as she jams her foot directly into Hanzo's lower belly. The keystroke causes the man to convulse, a fine streak of magenta smoke sallying out of his body where it has been hit.

Hanzo's movements halt in their tracks. Orochimaru's eyes expand savagely. _So there it is…_

* * *

 **notes:**  
I must say I am not overly happy with this chapter. In my defense, I did mean for it to be combined with next chapter, which I am far more pleased with and always intended as the high tide. However, somewhere in the middle of outlining it, I realized we were talking 6-7k words at the very least, which would have been ridiculous considering the humble length of my previous installments. So for the sake of consistency, here's part one, and a solemn promise that part two is better (and half-done).


	7. Three Names

**VI.  
Three Names**

So this is the true purpose of the mask. To shield its owner from his very self. The irony is not lost on Orochimaru. For all the great reputation Hanzo of the Salamander has accumulated over the years on account of his skill with venom, the man has turned out to be vulnerable to his own trademark poison. Orochimaru suspects it must have been unlocked by a deflated venom implant of sorts, probably located within Hanzo's lower belly, where Tsunade has just broken flesh with her nimble kick. Which means they have been very lucky to happen upon it from the first go.

Regardless of how it's come to be, it is an unprecedented display of vulnerability, although the effect it has on Hanzo appears to be paralyzing rather than lethal, the way it is for the man's enemies. Orochimaru intends to make the most of it anyway.

His hands perform a series of seals, even as he is well aware that the jutsu is likely to cost him most of his chakra. He slams his hands into the surface closest to him—which happens to be Manda's head, much to the serpent's indignation—and channels his chakra through his outspread digits. The black formula of the Triple Rashomon leaves a more complicated marking than that of a typical summoning. Orochimaru is quite proud to have mastered it in less than a month. Of course he hasn't done so through traditional means. This jutsu isn't lawfully taught in the Hidden Leaf, courtesy of some musty decree about civilian safety. But the First Hokage's scrolls have looked oh so lonely, sitting on a rack within a locked chamber, guarded by three very distracted ANBU, just waiting for a daring hand to close around their bolts.

His teammates would condemn his actions if they knew of how he came into possession of the knowledge, but once again it is the stolen jutsu that comes to their aid and not the one they picked during their lessons with Sarutobi-sensei.

The three gates burst autonomously from the ground, surrounding Hanzo in a roofless triangular prism, effectively separating him from his struggling summoning. Each painted demon face stares dully at the paralyzed man, menacing and unyielding.

Hanzo looks like he is about to shake off the paralysis, but that is what the Rashomon walls are here for. Whatever his jutsu, it will be restricted safely in. Nothing in Orochimaru's line of experience has ever come close to denting one of the great gates. Granted, Hanzo's explosive tags might put a scratch on them. But that is as far as they will get him.

The man looks up at them, irritably serene. "To think you'd have the First Hokage's techniques up your sleeve as well... So you have trapped me in. I know the power of these gates too well. Any offensive jutsu I perform will be rendered useless, and the damage is likely to rebound at me." The man lifts up his hands in a prompting fashion. "Now, Leaf underlings... I give you this chance. Show me what you are capable of."

Orochimaru pays no heed to the man's arrogant tone. They have him where they want him. He and Jiraiya land on either side of the barrage, maroon tiles clicking hollowly beneath their feet like teeth snapping. Orochimaru promptly prepares to perform the finishing technique. It's time to show Hanzo that their bite can be dangerous as well.

The oddest of memories pass along in his head as Orochimaru sets to exploit the enemy's exposure.

It was the day Sarutobi-sensei taught them about Nature Transformation and showed them how to test their individual affinity for themselves. That day, Orochimaru discovered he had an affinity for all five of the chakra elements, with wind being especially well-developed within his system. Jiraiya was told to have command over several of the elements as well, with fire being his dominant unit.

"Alright!" Jiraiya exulted.

"What are you happy about?" Orochimaru wanted to know. "Is it because fire has the advantage against wind? You realize it isn't going to help your chances against me."

"Of course not, you dummy," his white-haired comrade retorted, looking a little hurt. "It's 'cause only fire can work so well with the wind. It goes to prove we'll be an awesome team."

Orochimaru was not convinced at the time. "Hm. We'll see."

He joins his hands, now, as he compiles chakra into his throat, gushing out a great wind influx that blows grit into Hanzo's eyes, forcing the man to squint. A blazing cannonball of fire smites into Hanzo's side as Jiraiya releases a powerful fire jutsu simultaneously, the flames enforced by the wind, sending the Hidden Rain leader flying even as they scorch him beyond recognition.

For a moment, the inside of the Rashomon enclosure looks like hell incarnate—the toothed guises of three demons overlooking the lupine raid of the fire as a single wretch faces an eternity of torment within the boiling furnace.

"Did we… get him?" Jiraiya groans in a strained voice, mouth smoldering from the power of his fire jutsu. Orochimaru is scant of breath himself. They are all nearing their respective limits.

"Yeah…" Tsunade says uncertainly. "Did we?"

"Examine the corpse," Orochimaru huffs as he allows the triple walls to slump back below ground.

They all draw closer, lean over the burnt body cautiously. The man—or what's left of him—is black and formless, and smells like death should. Tsunade covers her lower face with a gloved hand, and Jiraiya looks away almost instantly. Orochimaru looks over the conquered enemy for a while, curiosity painted on his face, in part scanning for possible signs of life (which is rather unthinkable, considering), in part marveling at his masterful work. They have done it, truly done it—

Then the clone melts away, eliciting small gasps from all three of them.

Of course. That's why the salamander has not dissipated from within the clenching helix of Manda's body. Orochimaru is caught in an odd mixture of respect for this man who is on a completely different level than them, and the anxiety of a snake that is beginning to realize it's being cornered.

"I admit it," Hanzo of the Salamander says as he reemerges from inside his lizard's mouth, masked once again. "The three of you are worthy of facing the real me."

Hanzo's hands join in a succession of seals Orochimaru does not recognize. The gaping wound on his salamander that's been worked open by Tsunade's splitting whack begins to fume and fizz. "Manda," Orochimaru warns.

"I know," the snake replies irritably.

But before Manda can disengage from the beast, it bites into his tail and drags him underground. Orochimaru leaps in the air, openmouthed. There is some dreadful, muted howling as the earth vibrates from the colliding beasts that have invaded its womb, and then the wretched sounds come to a sharp and sudden end.

The salamander grubs its way out, screeching victoriously, or just hungrily. There is no trace of Manda.

Orochimaru's eyes widen incredulously. Could his summoning have truly fallen? "Manda…?"

"Your familiar has chosen to abandon this battlefield sooner than face death," Hanzo explains disparagingly. "It was a rather disgraceful act. You should have trained it better."

"We don't need your smug advices," Jiraiya growls and lunges forward.

The battle resumes.

Katsuyu and Gamabunta do their best against the salamander's merciless onslaught, but it doesn't take a man of great intelligence to grasp that they are vastly outmatched, especially without Manda, who is always the third piece of the puzzle, the one who makes their attacks click into place.

"I'm at my limit, lady Tsunade," Katsuyu heaves thinly at some point.

"Sorry, Jiraiya…" Gamabunta wheezes as well. "I knew I… should have cut on those damn pipes…"

They both fade away, two neat puffs of milk-white, curly smoke. Orochimaru grits his teeth. _Like they were never here._

The three of them touch down on the ground. Orochimaru senses the beginnings of anguish creep into his teammates' stances as the salamander looms over the three of them, its imposing presence causing them to seem small and defenseless. _It's almost like they're little children all over again, fighting to get those bells from Sarutobi-sensei._ The man had been so out of their league, even Orochimaru had felt powerless. _We got the bells in the end though, Tsunade and I. As for Jiraiya..._ Jiraiya has grown much since then, even Orochimaru can admit to this.

They can handle this enemy. They must. Orochimaru has grander plans for himself than dying a pathetic death in the middle of a godforsaken, miserable land, surrounded by nothing but filth and mire, slaughtered like a simple pig in the rain. Such death is beneath him.

Hanzo's gaze falls heavily on the three members of team Hiruzen. "Now, where were we?"

The man renews his attack, calm and methodical as ever, as if the recent fighting hasn't reflected on his stamina in the slightest. The growing lassitude, however, is catching up with the three of them at alarming rates.

One of Jiraiya's fire techniques dies out in the form of sorry ashes on his breath; Tsunade slips on an explosive tag and nearly gets blown to bits, with Jiraiya spearing into her to shove them both to safety at the last moment; even Orochimaru is ashamed to admit that his body is beginning to betray him, to the point where he has trouble returning to his human form after a partial snake transformation.

This can't go on for much longer.

Orochimaru dashes and darts and twists his body to deflect the fatal grasp of the giant lizard, nearly slipping on the redness of death that glazes the land, thick and dark, sluicing from trampled corpses that have become part of the earth. As he keeps on dancing precariously across the backs of dead allies, all those dull eyes staring up at him, pithless and unseeing, a single thought jars against the inner walls of his skull over and over like a rabid bat: they can't win this.

It's only going to get worse, Orochimaru knows. They're headed no place good, the way they're currently setting about it. They need to do something. And they need to do it fast, before any of them—

Tsunade's scream tears through the field like nails scraping down a blackboard. Orochimaru stops dead in his tracks. He turns at its direction slowly, so very slowly, already knowing what he is going to find.

One of Hanzo's water techniques has successfully propelled Tsunade away from her teammates and into the man's grasp. He is holding her by the hair, the crook of his _kusarigama_ hovering at her throat in a wordless threat. At first Orochimaru wonders why she isn't fighting back, but then he spots the explosive tags that braid at her feet. She'd normally work her way around them, but looking over her face, Orochimaru becomes conscious of the utter exhaustion that's scrunched her fine features. She has never looked frailer, her skin white and slick with sweat, deep half-moons creeping under her eyes as if she is about to drop off any moment now.

Tsunade's knees tremble as Hanzo forces her hands behind her head in an effective iron grip.

"Surrender your weapons, or she dies."

Orochimaru sets his teeth.

Now it's all fallen on him. Because Jiraiya doesn't want to—will never—do it, it's fallen on Orochimaru to face the dire facts: they have no way of winning, no way of helping Tsunade, and no way of escaping. _At this rate, we'll all die._ They'll die, and Orochimaru's ambition will be lost forever. No. He can't have that. He will not have it. Orochimaru's eyes expand with malevolent determination. _I will not die before I have discovered it all, and made it my possession._

If they are going to survive this, they _are_ in need of something special indeed. The only special thing they have left in their arsenal that Orochimaru can think of is the element of sheer surprise. Surprise and necessary sacrifices. Orochimaru closes his eyes. _Just like with the bell test... one of us will have to end up on the log._

He conjures the thick, olive-scaled serpent that has been serving as keeper to the Kusanagi from the depths of his throat, and watches as the blade unravels from its snake sheath sleekly. Hanzo apparently takes it for an act of surrendering weapons, because he does not move to harm Tsunade.

Sword half-hanging from his mouth, Orochimaru squints at his female comrade, searching for her eyes. There, he is relieved to find understanding. Their eyes lock for the briefest of moments, cool hazel wordlessly querying unflinching copper. Tsunade purses her cracked lips—clearly she hasn't had time to mend the broken flesh as it's not like her to grow neglectful, especially when it comes to her own rules—fiery and defiant as he's ever seen her.

"Do it," she mouths.

That is all the prompting Orochimaru needs. Without second thoughts, he projectiles the sword out of his body in a swift rush of air. There is only so much the Hidden Rain leader can do in this brief window to avert the fatal trajectory.

Hanzo's eyes widen ever so slightly as he looks down between himself and Tsunade, where the bad end of a sword exits her bloodied chest to drive deeply into his, connecting their heaving bodies with its crimson-stained blade. Before he crumbles, Hanzo exhales deeply through his two-cartridge mask, the purple gas hissing vindictively. The poison seeps into Tsunade's deep stab wound, causing her to scream raggedly as her blood begins to churn, body gone limp like a rag doll's.

Orochimaru's ears pick up on Tsunade's gagged gasp as she coughs out gore and gastric juices among other questionable bodily fluids, the black bile scarfing her chin and throat morbidly. Her torn up sounds are quickly followed by a wild curse emitted by Jiraiya. Orochimaru closes his eyes for an instant. _He is definitely going to be mad about this._

Orochimaru leaps forward, Jiraiya hot on his heels, either in a rush to retrieve Tsunade's broken body or kill his dark-haired teammate. Orochimaru can't be certain which is Jiraiya's priority at this point.

Hanzo reaches over Tsunade's quaking form and wraps his hand around the handle of the Kusanagi, pulling the blade out of her blood-soaked flak vest. Orochimaru bends his index and middle fingers, redirecting the blade. Hanzo pushes Tsunade's numb body forward. Orochimaru skims past her, lets her hit the ground, never straining from his initial target.

He elongates his neck and bites into the enemy's collar, his Kusanagi drifting into the man's lower chest and belly from the other side. Blood spurts, thick and red, and Orochimaru licks it greedily. He will take as much as he can, as an act of vengeance for what he has been forced to do to his teammate, as well as a way of claiming his well-deserved spoils of war.

The salamander disappears, signaling its master's death. Orochimaru turns his head, still teeth deep into Hanzo's pulse. He is met by Jiraiya's coal black eyes, wide with shock as he holds Tsunade's lifeless body, staring into his dark-haired teammate with a look of sheer… disgust? Hatred? Wretchedness?

Orochimaru catches a glimpse of his own reflection in his teammate's glassy eyes—a terrifying, unnatural creature with sickly white skin, an oblong neck and the eyes of a reptile, feasting hungrily on its prey.

Something catches in Orochimaru's throat. He isn't sure what it is, but for a moment, a foolish part of him nearly wants to take back what has just transpired.

But that's preposterous. What he sees in Jiraiya's eyes, it's what he is, what he has willingly become. It's what he needs to be, to fulfill his life-long ambition. And he'd stop at nothing to achieve that. He'd claw his way to the all-knowledge if he had to walk over the corpses of every man, woman and child that ever lived. _That's right, Jiraiya. Fear me. You will do well to be fearful of who I am._ It is about time it got through to the white-haired man that Orochimaru doesn't conform to his unsophisticated fantasies about brotherhood and comradeship. _I am not your brother and I am not your comforter. Frogs and serpents do not mingle._

Tsunade's death has been a paltry price to pay. This, this has been necessary. The death of others is insignificant to him to begin with. Orochimaru is going to achieve immortality. He, whom they call a genius. He, who is destined to uncover the secrets of life and death. He, who never looked for warmth and yet had it delivered by his comrades, selflessly and stupidly—

"Orochimaru! Snap out of it, goddammit!"

Orochimaru inhales sharply as he feels an intrusive chakra flow interrupt his own. He looks both ways, wide-eyed, cold sweat beading between his knotted eyebrows. His teammates are there, on either side of him, regarding him with worried faces. Each has placed a hand on his shoulder, a common way of breaking a man free from a genjutsu.

Of course it's been a genjutsu. Tsunade's cracked lips— that alone should have tipped him off. What's more, Hanzo has no reason to keep Tsunade hostage. He'd kill her on the spot, because Orochimaru and Jiraiya aren't enough of a threat to be bargained with. Orochimaru grits his teeth, feeling disgraceful for getting played like this. But why show him this, of all things? Orochimaru knows too well that there are plenty of other, simpler mechanisms to torture a mind, any mind. Whereas this... this has been personal.

Orochimaru struggles to swim out of his inner confusion and set his mind back in order.

 _Have I really… allowed myself to fall for such a cheap trick?_

His breathing slowly returns to normal as he takes in his surroundings, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that the genjutsu has been cast. His anger only grows when he is unable to figure it out.

"Don't sweat it," Jiraiya pats him on the back, impossibly patronizing. "Happens even to the best and brightest."

 _It doesn't happen to me_ , Orochimaru wants to hiss, but he is still fighting the residue images of Tsunade's stilled corpse and Jiraiya's accusatory eyes in his head to form much of an articulate speech.

"Why?" Orochimaru asks hoarsely, the question unambiguously directed at Hanzo.

The man crosses his arms. "I can see you are not like the rest of your fellow soldiers. Different ties bind you to the path of the shinobi... darker thoughts, darker desires. I was interested to see for myself... if you were willing to pay the price for the path you have chosen."

A test, then. From the look the man is giving him, Orochimaru can't decide whether he has passed or failed. Not that it matters to him. If there's one thing past ignorance that Orochimaru detests in this world, it is being made a fool of.

This man… He has seen through him, and facilitated an illusion so exquisite that it has worked things open inside Orochimaru he has only been half-cognizant of up until now. Orochimaru feels his wrath upsurge. He never allows anyone so close to himself as to let them read him. And yet this man has the _impudence_ to presume to instill misplaced care in his heart… Orochimaru wants nothing more than to tear his head off.

He almost gives in to his rage. Almost. In the end, his calculative side prevails, somehow, driving sense back into his mind. He of all people cannot afford for his emotions to get him killed. He, who is supposed to know better.

The battle does not wait for the storm that is Orochimaru's agitated mind to cease roiling. They continue with this doomed farce for a bit, until Jiraiya is forced to pull Tsunade away from several crawling paper tags and into the hollow of his spiked hair. Orochimaru lands near them, barely standing on his feet. Tsunade is leaning against a kneeling Jiraiya, his white hair still enveloping them loosely, both breathing heavily. They each have one good technique left in them, two if they are lucky.

 _So that's as far as we go…_

Orochimaru cannot meet his demise in a place like this. He still has so much more researching to do. So many bodies to be cut open, so many secrets to be unraveled to his ever-curious gaze. This can't be it.

But Hanzo isn't killing them, for some reason. "I predict that this conflict will end with the Hidden Leaf's victory," the Hidden Rain leader says, standing tall atop of his lizard. "Which is why I have decided to spare your lives."

They all eye him dubiously. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jiraiya yells, finishing on a ragged cough.

"You three are powerful… Only you have survived. I, Hanzo, hereby dub you the Sannin of the Leaf. Refer to yourselves as such in return for having your lives spared. In exchange for this benevolence, I expect you to tell me your names."

"We can still fight!" Jiraiya bellows.

"Stop it, Jiraiya!" Tsunade cuts him off wisely.

Orochimaru has no delusions about their situation. If they keep struggling, they'll die like fools. This, this is no charity. Not in the true sense of the word. This man is a collector, of sorts. Orochimaru can relate to this. Their dignity is the price for their lives.

Again, it's fallen on him to act.

Orochimaru opens his mouth, speaking the three words—the three names—that end up saving their lives. In exchange, they acquire a single name, one that ties the three of them together, binds them to the memory of this fateful day. A name Orochimaru suspects they will soon be whispering with respect and fear everywhere throughout the five great nations. Perhaps even beyond.

 _The Legendary Sannin..._ They have earned this and more, him and his teammates. Those two might have their faults, but when it truly counts, they are the only people Orochimaru will concede to calling his equals.

When Orochimaru first found out who his teammates would be, he was beyond certain no good would come from it. Jiraiya was too gullible and rambunctious to be a ninja. With his perverted ways, he'd be killed or incarcerated for peeking on some high-up's daughter all within their first mission. Tsunade was just spoilt. She probably wouldn't be able to throw a decent punch without complaining about how much it hurt, and her gambling habits would no doubt cause them to end up at... unsavory places. Yes, Orochimaru thought firmly. He had definitely lucked out on the worst possible teammates. His only consolation was that the two of them would probably be dead within a year.

That has not been the case. The both of them have somehow proven him thoroughly wrong, even though their minor vices still irritate him on occasion, Jiraiya with his debauchery and Tsunade with her obsessive gambling. But at the same time, it is clear that Jiraiya has learned to see beyond his innate short-sightedness, and act responsibly within a team. And Tsunade... Her punches are the deadliest Orochimaru has ever witnessed. Sometimes he can hardly believe it is the same hands that tear through rock and flesh that can be so gentle when they hover over his wounds and work them closed with unmatched expertise.

Orochimaru has long since lost count of the times they have saved each other's lives on the field of battle. Even just now, as they faced Hanzo, it was their good teamwork that kept them alive.

No, Orochimaru thinks. He has not lucked out on the worst possible teammates after all.

In the end, Orochimaru concludes the both of them can be quite sensible. For always turning a blind eye to the hunger in his gaze whenever he cuts people open with his sword. For being levelheaded enough to survive the ultimate test of their skill against Hanzo. But mostly for not asking him what had transpired within the Hidden Rain despot's unfortunate genjutsu trap.

At least the inconvenient question has not been directed at him as of yet. There's no guarantee they won't ask him eventually. He'd lie to them if it came to it, of course. He just isn't sure he'd lie well enough. And that might turn into a problem.

* * *

 **notes:**  
1\. So there it is! I have to say I had fun writing this. I mean, even more so than usual. This chapter might be a bit more emotional than what you guys are used to, but I am nonetheless very happy with how it's turned out. Feedback would be very much appreciated! I know I always say that, but this time I mean it, lol. Go. Comment. Now.  
2\. On a more serious note, I want you guys to know I really appreciate the support this story is getting. That applies to both regular reviewers and silent readers. And I know for a fact there's a considerable amount of the latter. Either that or traffic graph is shamelessly lying to my face, lol. In any event, I am grateful for all my readers, outspoken and silent. Reviews are wonderful and really make my day (and sometimes motivate me to sit on my ass and write faster), but it also makes me happy to see how many people who choose not to comment still come back to this story. So yes, big big big thanks to everyone. You rock.


	8. The Rain Children

**VII.  
The Rain Children**

"We can't continue with the mission, you know."

Tsunade has put into words what has been on all of their minds. Orochimaru nods curtly, while Jiraiya grunts out in frustration.

"I'm sorry," the white-haired man drones. No doubt he is blaming himself for this squalid plight that they have been dragged into. That's alright. Orochimaru blames him in part, too.

They have taken refuge into yet another miserable cave, and have been licking wounds like sorry animals for the past few days. The cavern they reside in is enshrouded by the running waters of an inert waterfall, the liquid drape masking their improvised lair from unobservant eyes. As they climbed the jagged rocks to grovel their way up here, one of Jiraiya's old wounds got worked open and has since begun to fester. All of their chakra has been so thoroughly drained that Tsunade has had to resort to actually using her basic medical kit to fight the infection. Somewhere between her second and third needle exchange it became quite clear that making it to the Hidden Stone within schedule would be out of the question. They have gloomily sent out a bird to Sarutobi-sensei, Orochimaru's words of report concise and short-spoken. _Traitor in our midst. Ambushed by Hanzo of the Salamander. Eight dead. In hiding. Impart previous orders to another war party._

What's even worse is they haven't been able to track down or even identify the double-crosser. They weren't able to tell apart most of the corpses during the battle, but Orochimaru briefly counted them. Even that proved difficult enough to do mid-combat, seeing as they weren't exactly waiting in neat piles for him to assess. No, they were disjointed, scattered across the field like pieces of a complicated, grotesque puzzle.

Eight. He counted eight stilled bodies. One had definitely slipped away during the battle.

"You fought side by side with them, Jiraiya," Orochimaru recalls muttering at some point while they were searching for some place to hide. "Surely you remember who was present, and who was not."

Much to Orochimaru's annoyance, his teammate shook his head guiltily. "It was all happening so fast, you know? I don't even know how many people were there at my side."

Orochimaru hissed. How typical. Now they couldn't even send a proper report of the casualties.

"Eight are dead and the ninth is the traitor," Tsunade murmured grimly. "I wonder if the families will be praying for their relative to be the living sellout or among the loyal deceased."

None of them knew the answer to this particular question.

* * *

"I'll take the next watch," Orochimaru declares and slithers towards the mouth of the cave without expecting an answer.

This has been the nature of their communication for the past few days. Their chats have been more like trading bulletins than having actual conversation. Orochimaru dubs it understandable, given the circumstances. Dampness transudes from the ceiling and runs down the talon-like stalactites, spoiling their food as they speak. Drip, drip, drip. The sound of water droplets hitting a larger pool of water is the only thing that is heard in the hollow of the cave for a while.

Jiraiya breaks the brooding silence at some point, a heavy sigh swelling slothfully in his chest. "Will it really end with the Hidden Leaf's victory like he said?" the ashen-haired man murmurs pensively.

Orochimaru listens to his teammates' hushed conversation with half an ear, keeping his attention focused on the rainy exterior. They never know what's out there. If nothing else, their recent vicissitudes have taught them this sour lesson.

"And if it does, then what?" Tsunade wonders. "Will you set out on another journey?"

"Maybe…"

Jiraiya's gallivanting has no end, it seems. Orochimaru finds the concept of it utterly pointless. Why chase after something as volatile as fate, a mere prospect some senile toad-sage has hinted at, when you can spend the time improving your skill?

"Perhaps I'll set out on my travels and write another book…"

There is a pause.

"Why won't you settle down in the village?"

A fair question. Not that Orochimaru cares too much. Jiraiya is free to do whatever nonsense with his life he pleases.

"I feel as though I haven't encountered it yet," Jiraiya admits.

"You mean, your destiny?"

There is a barely audible shift in the air, but it is enough for Orochimaru to pick up on a presence that has no business in their cave.

"Quiet!" Orochimaru hisses to his teammates, approaching them circumspectly, canny golden eyes biting into the source of the distraction.

Jiraiya frowns as his eyes scan through the shadows that swallow the cavern's far end. "They're just kids," he argues.

"Don't let your guard down," Orochimaru warns. "Even little mice can be from the Hidden Rain." The fact that the three of them have been spared by the country's leader does not guarantee them a trouble-free return to their village.

"We know you're there," Tsunade snarls at the twitching shadows, her hoarse voice the farthest thing from reassuring. They have made war on this campaign for far too long, have been on edge for too many weeks straight, and it has earned them nothing but minor victories. In the mean time, they have had to endure scant food, being on constant alert, and the cold wetness of the wretched rain pouring down their collars on a daily basis. It is only natural they'd all be thin on patience. "Show yourselves!"

A child walks out from behind a larger rock. _It is an odd place we've come to indeed_ , Orochimaru thinks in mild amusement. _Lizards delve underground tunnels and rats climb high rocks._ He is fairly impressed that the little scoundrel and its fellow friends have managed to vanquish the challenging altitude of the waterfall all by themselves. _Would be a shame to fall right back down..._

The boy that is creeping up towards them appears to be no more than ten years old, with short spiky orange hair and brown eyes that hold a certain sense of melancholy to them, its murky exterior telling a story Orochimaru recognizes almost instantly. The same blue devils have once swum in his very eyes too, after all. Orochimaru notices there's wariness in the boy's steps as it draws closer them, yet it does not avert its eyes from their heavy stare, dangerously dangling on the line between boldness and folly. Something about this child alarmingly reminds Orochimaru of how his white-haired teammate used to be in his early years. The parallel makes him crinkle his nose in distaste. _Unruly children are the worst._

If it weren't for his teammates, Orochimaru would have already killed the insolent nipper and its fellow vermin that scutter behind a coarse rock formation. But things are never simple when Jiraiya and his almsgiving are involved.

"What do you want?" Tsunade asks, as if a bit intimidated by the boy's haunting emanation. _How foolish_ , Orochimaru thinks. _You are the one who holds the kunai, the power of life and death. You should not be daunted by those you can kill._

The boy stretches out his hand without further ceremony. "Give me some food."

"What about your parents?" Jiraiya queries. Orochimaru sighs quietly. It is a doomed question.

"They were killed by ninja because of this war," the orphan answers grimly. Jiraiya and Tsunade's faces twist in remorse, as if it were their personal fault that the boy's parents have not had the means to defend themselves, have been too meek to survive in this world where war is the god of everything, and its lackeys the ninja bring about its flippant, unforgiving verdict upon the weaker species that is the common folk.

"Have some bread," Jiraiya beckons, unwisely.

Before the boy makes to take what is offered, it turns back towards the murky end of the grotto and addresses the shadows. "Nagato, Konan, come out! They don't seem like bad people."

Two more worms crawl out into view, one with violet-blue hair and annoyingly lively amber eyes, the other pale, as pale as Orochimaru, with straight crimson hair that falls over its face like a curtain of blood. Orochimaru gets an odd sense about the latter for just an instant. But then the feeling dissipates, leaving in its wake only the sense that these children will be the cause for his teammates to do something very impractical.

Even in the gloaming, it is visible to Orochimaru that all three children have a decidedly bad-at-heel appearance, the march of warfare across their pitiful lives detectable on each bruise dotting their bodies, every bone jutting underneath clinging bags of weather-beaten skin, every awry nose that's been broken more than once. All three of them are thin as twigs. Easy to snap like ones too, by the looks of it. _War orphans are a sad story…_

The strong will always take what they want.

Orochimaru watches as his white-haired teammate feeds the silly skeleton-children, greedy little hands snatching away Tsunade's portion as well, keeping his opinion on the matter to himself. Whether they live to receive another feeding or two, regardless of how hard they might cling to life, these children will be dead within a year. The three of them, on the other hand, have actual odds at surviving. Whether they'll be well-rested or fighting on an empty stomach could be what makes the difference for his team.

They depart from the cave soon after this, abandoning the orphans to their fate. Jiraiya has been the hardest to convince, but Orochimaru and Tsunade have guilted him into taking their leave by highlighting the fact that it was Jiraiya's wound that slowed them down in the first place.

They take off, puppets to the strings of rain once more, their footsteps splashing across red puddles as they set to leave this deplorable place once and for all. Orochimaru senses that the children are following them. _Such foolishness…_

He makes up his mind not to pay any heed to it. He will ignore them for as long as they don't pose a hindrance to their movement. And if they do… well, he's always been the quickest with the blade in their team.

* * *

They opt to walk rather than run in order to spare their paltry chakra. They've become easier targets this way, but it's better to suffer bigger chances of facing an enemy they're prepared for than risk a smaller outlook of encountering one for which they are not.

Cold and silent ghost towns sprawl ahead of them. The villages they pass through are empty as the desert, the population either slaughtered or driven away from their homeland by the rumors of passing war parties. They settle down to rest in an abandoned windmill once dusk chases away the last sprays of purple from the sky. The windmill is small and forlorn, but it is exactly what they need. It's sitting solitary on a hilltop near yet another desolate village, a place no one in their right mind would look for people. While it has seen better days, it still stands strong, a lone sentinel facing the lifeless village's edge. Its sails are stilled, and have been so for a while, if the cobweb that clings to them is any indication. _Pity_ , Orochimaru thinks. He has little fondness for things that have gone stagnant in their inactivity.

The inside of the windmill is as run-down as the exterior, decadence oozing from each crack on the moss-engrossed concrete of the walls, each bug bedecking the single premises from floor to ceiling. Orochimaru settles in the far corner of it, hoping for his privacy to be left undisturbed through the night.

Jiraiya offers to take the first watch, selfless to a fault as per usual. "You two get some sleep. I got this."

"How are we supposed to get any sleep when those children are right outside," Tsunade grumbles jumpily. She has been shivering slightly ever since they set foot into the windmill, insects and grime clearly not an accommodation she takes to.

"Loosen up, lass," Jiraiya laughs. "I get the feeling these kids won't be a bother to us. Besides, I, the great and gallant Jiraiya, got this covered. No need to worry your pretty heads over nothing, ladies," the man jests flatly when both his teammates give him a dubious look.

Orochimaru ensconces himself in the crescent of a broken bench and lies down, back to his teammates. Just as he closes his eyes to get some much needed sleep, he feels Tsunade's hesitating presence hover close to his back. "What is it, Princess?" he asks without turning.

"T-these bugs are gross," she stammers out, shuddering faintly, clearly embarrassed of her fright. Orochimaru finds it bizarre that the woman would have no trouble summoning snails but shakes like a leaf at the prospect of sharing a bedding with cockroaches, centipedes, and the occasional planthopper. "Could— could you, like, send some of your snakes to… you know, have dinner?"

Orochimaru stirs at that, turns halfway around to give the woman a quizzical look, not sure if he has gotten her request straight. "You're expecting me to _eat_ those insects so you can get comfortable?"

"N-not you!" Tsunade lifts up her hands defensively, the flickering orange of the small campfire dancing on her flushed cheeks, turning their redness a notch brighter. "Your snakes. Familiars. Extensions. Your—your whatevers."

Orochimaru cannot decide whether he is amused or annoyed by the woman's hectic effort to look anyplace but his direction. "You can't get over your fears if you don't face them head-on, Princess," he responds finally.

"I know…" Tsunade murmurs, looking grouchily at her feet. "I just—I guess not all of us are as good at being fearless as you. _Some_ of us are only human. I... I suppose that's why it took me so long to go to Nawaki's grave after he…" She chokes off the rest of it, goes out of her way to appear overly engrossed with whatever dirt's under her fingernails. The woman has always been an objectionable actress, most of all when she is trying to conceal her own emotions.

Orochimaru is in no mood for sentimentalities. This conversation has already taken up enough of his sleep time as it is. "My serpents need to be kept empty-bellied for when they must swallow an enemy," he explains, moving to turn his back on her again.

"Oh..."

When he gets an earful of her sashaying away, trying but utterly failing to swallow down a disappointed sound, he sighs and adds, "Just call me or Jiraiya if anything should happen to crawl over you. I'm sure we'll… think of something to do."

Tsunade retracts to her corner without another word. "...Thanks," she hums eventually, voice drowsy and muted, as if coming from far away.

"...Hn."

The odd aftertaste of the words lingers with him long after Orochimaru closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

* * *

The next day is as the former: rain above them, deserted villages ahead of them, and three very persistent orphans behind them. "You gave them all your food again, didn't you, Jiraiya?" Tsunade berates their white-haired teammate.

Jiraiya merely shrugs and scratches his scalp. "Now now, I wasn't that hungry anyway! Besides, they got the munchies… What sort of man would I be if I had tucked away all my food and let them go around starving?"

"The wise sort of man," Orochimaru mutters, growing more and more annoyed with this nuisance by the minute. "Jiraiya, giving food to these children is like feeding mutts. Throw them a hunk of bread and they will only chase after you harder for the next few crumbs."

Jiraiya frowns. "That's an awful way of putting it. The fact that you didn't have to depend on the mercy of strangers when you were an infant doesn't mean you should be so detached from the fate of other orphans, you know."

Orochimaru clicks his tongue. "I was never a weakling to begin with. The fact that these knaves are orphaned does not mean they should be mentioned in the same breath as me. I owe them no sympathy, and neither do you. Let them die now instead of prolonging their suffering."

Orochimaru narrows his eyes in irritation when Jiraiya just smiles solemnly. "I can't do that. Some people might have no trouble murdering innocent children and fuelling the tides of war. But I suppose it's not what fate has allotted me. I need to find that one person... the one who's going to change it all. And when I do, I need to be the strong paragon he takes after, the guiding hand that will help him alter the old world's ways for the better." Jiraiya rubs his side. "Not some skunk that slits the throats of little children in the back of filthy alleyways..."

"Hm." Orochimaru flicks his tongue absent-mindedly, dismissing his teammate's quack of hopeless idealism the way he usually does.

"You really should stop doing abnormal things with your tongue, you know," Jiraiya calls him down. "It scares away the pretty ladies."

Orochimaru could care less what Jiraiya thinks of his jutsu. His jutsu is practical. Unlike Jiraiya's queer and completely impractical transformation techniques where he assumes the bodies of young women with scant clothing, Orochimaru's jutsu has an actual, empirical purpose. As if the female transformation will ever serve Jiraiya in a battle. The opponent must be an even bigger idiot than Jiraiya himself to fall for such a cheap trick, and Orochimaru is yet to encounter such an individual in his lifetime.

Compared to that, Orochimaru's extensive tongue is perfectly fine. Besides, quitting something that in any way hinders Jiraiya's never-ending perversions is the farthest thing from Orochimaru's mind.

They walk on in silence for some time, letting the rain quietly soak them.

"So..." Jiraiya begins, side eyeing him nastily. "Ever used it on a woman?"

"Jiraiya!" Tsunade scolds. "This is way too personal! Let him have his space."

Orochimaru doesn't see how the question is in any way personal. "Princess, it's quite alright," he says in a matter-of-factly voice. Tsunade seems puzzled, but lets him speak. "Of course I've used it on plenty of women in my lifetime."

Both his teammates gape for a good ten seconds, after which they scream the place down.

"EEEEEEEH?!"

Orochimaru is quite taken aback by their intense reaction, wary that they will attract more enemies this way. "What are you two so surprised about?" When they just continue to stare abhorrently at him, he feels impelled to say something. "I do not understand your exasperation. If this is some kind of joke, it's not funny."

"That's our line you closet pervert!" Jiraiya yells accusingly.

"I have no idea why I have just been called that. At any rate, it's a ridiculous question. I don't get why you would ask me specifically about women." Orochimaru can't know for sure, but he suspects it has something to do with Jiraiya's bizarre infatuation with them. "After all, I use it on both men and women indiscriminately. Truth be told, the only person I'd never consider using it on is you, Jiraiya." Because that would just be disgusting.

Jiraiya coughs out wildly like a choking deer, while Tsunade seems like she is about to faint.

"WHAT THE HELL, OROCHIMARU?!"

Orochimaru feels even more lost. "Don't act so surprised, the two of you," he hisses out, starting to get no less than a bit fed up with this entire situation. "And quiet down. We're in the middle of a war zone."

"Y-you... I can't even… Ugh... So gross..." Jiraiya trails off, unable to finish.

"Oh please," Orochimaru sibilates, impatient to put the matter to bed so they can walk in silence for a while. "It's not like I keep it a secret. I use it on Tsunade all the time."

Jiraiya's nostrils flare, emitting something between a vapor and a nosebleed. Tsunade is so red-faced she might as well be a tomato.

"Tsunade... How could you do this to me... With him of all men..."

"T-that's not true!" she squawks in terror.

Jiraiya cries, then curses, then wilts like an old lady. "You… you should have told me you were into the freak show kind of stuff… I'm not a sleazy snake but I would have done my best—"

"It's not true!" Tsunade insists, the strangest cocktail of panic, embarrassment and a tinge of outrage contorting her features.

Orochimaru clicks his tongue angrily. The woman is acting like a complete ingrate for some unfathomable reason. "Why would you deny the facts, Tsunade? I just did it the other day when we faced Hanzo, and I believe it saved your life more than once."

They both whip their heads up at him, the oddest expressions painted on their faces. Then Jiraiya bursts out laughing, heartily and mightily, and Tsunade joins him with her hoarse chuckles.

Orochimaru frowns deeply. "So it was a joke after all?"

"Ah you..." Jiraiya sighs happily, draping an arm over his neck, only furthering Orochimaru's confusion.

"What is it, Jiraiya?"

Tsunade comes up to him from the other side and places a hand on his shoulder. "You might be a genius on the battlefield, but you sure are clueless when it comes to girls."

"So clueless," Jiraiya chimes in as the three of them continue their journey. They travel in the quiet for some time, with Orochimaru deciding not to dwell on the matter too much, even though he admits to being a little curious about this entire exchange. He'd ask his teammates to elaborate themselves, but gauging their initial reaction, they'd probably either laugh harder or have a strange breakdown all over again. Orochimaru makes up his mind that he wishes for neither of those things to happen, so he stashes away his questions.

Perhaps he'll ask Sarutobi-sensei when they return to the village. The man is always eager to spend time with his favorite pupil, making himself available despite his time-draining duties as Hokage. Even Biwako, the man's own wife and consort, has expressed her jealousy of the commitment her husband shows towards his students, especially Orochimaru.

 _Yes,_ Orochimaru thinks complacently. _Perhaps we can have a nostalgic teacher-student conversation indeed._ Something to deceive the man into thinking his snake disciple is still to be trusted, and deserving of his confidence. So long as the man holds sway over the village's political affairs, it's good to have the Hokage's ear. The man has a soft spot for him, for whatever reason, and will buy any sentimental nonsense that gets thrown his way. Yes. Orochimaru is increasingly liking the idea the more he ruminates about it.

Time breezes by seamlessly whenever Orochimaru is immersed in thoughts of his plans like this. At some point, his teammate's voice interrupts his dark musings.

"We really needed that, you know," Jiraiya sighs, oblivious to his ebony-haired teammate's corrupt introspection, voice heavy with these past couple of weeks' bloody experience. "Us being us again, for a change."

"It's true…" Tsunade agrees quietly.

Orochimaru lets his teammates remain close to his sides for the time being, feeling boxed in but oddly enough his first urge isn't to suffocate them. "Hm." It would be too much trouble to ask them to move anyway.

* * *

The Hidden Rain orphans are growing bolder. They scarcely even try to conceal their presence anymore, following in team Hiruzen's elusive vestige as if they weren't lambs trailing the footprints of lions. Jiraiya may not mind, but Orochimaru makes it a point to stare the three worms down menacingly whenever he tilts his head back, causing them to halt their step momentarily, making it rather clear that this little waiting game is stepping on his nerves. 'They're just kids' being his primary argument, Jiraiya has been dismissing the bicker that has been on the rise for the past couple of hours, shielding himself with silly japes and sorry excuses.

The orphans are brazenly gaining ground on them, forming a neat tail of rags and boney limbs a few steps behind. It appears that Tsunade's patience can only take so much.

"We already gave you food!" she turns back to growl at the shabby children. "Why are you following us?!"

The blue-haired girl steps forward, hands locked behind her back. Jiraiya's hand moves to stop the knee-jerk reaction of Tsunade's clenched fist when the girl fumbles with the contents of its bagful. It startles everyone when it puts forward a paper flower. The sheet is pale and scrunched as it sits neatly like a pearl in the mussel of the girl's palms. It gets dampened by the rain almost immediately though, withering and losing its original shape.

Orochimaru regards the scene as it unfolds before him with mild interest. _Beauty is such a transitional thing…_

"Thank you," the girl utters. "This is for you…"

"It's origami," Jiraiya explains. "Folded from the bread wrapping."

Tsunade peers at the children, surprise stretching her face. "This is for us?"

The orange-haired boy comes up to them, the most assertive of the three once more. "Please teach us ninjutsu. You're all ninja from the Hidden Leaf, right?"

Jiraiya and Tsunade trade wide-eyed looks at the boy's request. Orochimaru deems it appropriate to step in.

"Shall I kill these children?" he asks evenly, eliciting surprised exclamations from his teammates. The two of them are too soft by half, as usual. The children draw back though, as he dissects them with his cool scrutiny, their faces finally assuming the fear they should have possessed from the very beginning. "I've seen many war orphans. It's pitiful. They would be better off if we just put them out of their misery right now…"

"Enough, Orochimaru!" Jiraiya cuts him off sternly. "You go on ahead with Tsunade. I'll stay here and look after them for a while."

The solemn announcement does catch Orochimaru off-guard, but after some pondering he concludes it shouldn't have. It is exactly in Jiraiya's style to go ahead and do something noble, charitable and completely senseless like that.

Tsunade gapes widely in shock, mouth dropping open to match the length of her dangling copper locks. "Huh?!"

"Just until they can take better care of themselves… It is the least I can do."

"But—"

Orochimaru closes his eyes and turns around on his heels. "Hm. Do as you like. Let us take our leave, Tsunade."

Tsunade whips her head at him, dismayed that he would be giving things up without a fight. "Orochimaru!"

"Reasoning with him is futile," Orochimaru elucidates. "And we are still within the Hidden Rain. Better to part ways quickly, so that each of us can find safe refuge before nightfall."

Tsunade takes her time mulling over his words, a troubled notch settling between her furrowed eyebrows. She finally turns to Jiraiya, a quiet sadness discernible in her eyes. "How long until you return?"

Jiraiya sighs heavily. "There's no telling… but I feel as though it might be a while. Try not to miss me too much, you two. And no sadness! Who knows… Perhaps I'll even return to you a sage."

"A perverted sage, that is."

"At least I'll be the first of my kind!"

Silence settles between the three of them until Tsunade places a hand on Jiraiya's arm. "If there's nothing we can do to change your mind… Stay safe, Jiraiya."

"You have my word, lass," Jiraiya says fondly. "Oh and, Orochimaru…" Orochimaru halts his step and tips his head slightly, not bothering to turn back around fully to face his teammate. Still, his ears perk up for what Jiraiya is about to say to him. "Now that I won't be around to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't entrench yourself in that silly lab completely. There's more to the world than that white little room, you know. Like dumplings, get-togethers, girls…" Jiraiya's ears flame up, eyes gone drifty with his typical perverted thoughts. "So many _girls_ , especially for you. They've always tripped over one another to get your attention, ask them why… Maybe it's time you made one very happy, eh?"

"Hm. I have little care for such nonsense, Jiraiya." He has left all the debauchery and wild shenanigans to his white-haired teammate. "You're free to womanize them all if that's how you choose to spend your time."

Orochimaru has a real goal. An ambition he will see fulfilled if it took every ounce of power that lingers in the darkest corners of this world.

"Now now, don't talk like that," Jiraiya chastises softly. "You'll sing another song when you meet your special lady. And she's out there somewhere, I'm telling you, waiting to be enchanted by that freaky tongue of yours. Mark my words, you silly, girl-uncomprehending snake. You'll get to know the ways of a woman's heart one day too soon, and then we'll all laugh at you for being whipped about."

Orochimaru shrugs, the ghost of a smile tipping over the corners of his mouth. "The female heart has never been of consequence to me, past studying its anatomical structure."

Jiraiya's enthusiasm withers as the man sags in defeat. "You still have a long way to go, don't you... you and your boring kind of _research_... Anyway, Tsunade, I'm counting on you to dig him out into the real world from time to time. I'll hold you accountable if he's turned into a fossil by the time I come back."

Tsunade nods her head, smiling weakly. "I'll try."

"Well then…"

The three of them depart from each other, Orochimaru walking ahead with Tsunade cleaving close by, leaving Jiraiya and the three orphans behind. While Tsunade's gaze lingers on the four dots that peter out in the distance, Orochimaru's eyes are already set into the future ahead of them; hungry. His teammate's words briefly echo in his head.

'There's more to the world than that white little room, you know.'

Little does his teammate know, that room holds more secrets to it than the entire village put together, and there's still so much to add… _My dear, deluded Jiraiya… The key to everything in this world is in that room. The very truth about it all…_ _And by the time you return, I very well intend to have had it unlocked._

* * *

 **notes:  
** 1\. I don't think there's been as much dialogue in any of my previous installments as there is in this one. Weird. Anyway, this chapter was an important transition between what I have dubbed part one and part two of this story. I can't know for sure how long it's all going to shape up to be, but I envision it consisting of three parts at the very least. Also, this is a farewell to Jiraiya, at least for a bit, seeing as it's going to be another three years before he makes it back to the Hidden Leaf. Will sure miss writing for the big guy! Ah well, there'll be some new (and of course very familiar) faces showing up around soon, so that's gotta make up for the loss.  
2\. Also, I'd like to give a shout-out to **Blue** , **CurryBeast** and **JustAGuy** , my three very devoted guest reviewers whom I've had no way of contacting via PMs. Don't think I've neglected you, guys. I read (and occasionally reread) every comment. Thanks for sticking around, and for showering me with such insightful feedback. You're awesome.


	9. A Controversial Figure

**VIII.  
A Controversial Figure**

Tsunade isn't much of a talker, Orochimaru is being reminded as they spend three consecutive days without any substantial verbal exchange, when Jiraiya isn't around to get conversation underway with his aimless babble. In fact, Orochimaru's unaccompanied presence seems to make her somewhat fidgety. The snake jounin cannot wrap his head around her chance mood swings for the life of him. One minute she is willing to entrust him with her life and asking him to eat insects for her, the next she acts as if they barely know each other. After all this time, the woman can still be difficult to read, on occasion.

Not that he minds the silence. Anyone with half a brain in the village knows for a fact that he prefers it over pointless chitchat and incessant idle talk. It's just that after having spent so many weeks in the close company of his loud-mouthed teammate, he needs some time to readjust his ears to a more peaceful, natural backdrop.

A scowl finds its way on Orochimaru's pale face. The day he misses Jiraiya will be the day he relinquishes life and deliberately lets one of his carnivorous experiments eat him, bone and all.

"Is something wrong?" Tsunade asks tentatively, as if threading to see if words still work the same when it's just the two of them.

"No," Orochimaru responds compactly. "Simply the weather."

Unfortunately, they are still squishing in the plexus of slime and squalor that is the Hidden Rain country. Even though they've switched back to running again now that their chakra levels allow it, they're still a solid few days away from crossing the border with the Land of Fire. Danger hasn't subsided. Enemies still vagabond throughout the region, varying in strength, number and sigils carved on the metal plates of their headbands. None have engaged in hostilities against the two of them so far but Orochimaru cannot count on their streak of good fortune to escort them all the way back to their village. They must retain their self-discipline, he and Tsunade, and remain mindful and circumspect during this final stretch, or else it could be their heads.

They eventually come to a three-way road split. Orochimaru has a good idea of their whereabouts, but they decide take a detour regardless so that they can give the topographic map they have stashed away among other provisions a once-over, just to be certain which derivation to follow.

"We're close," Orochimaru declares as he looks over the piece of parchment unfurled over his lap, Tsunade peeking at it from behind his shoulder, somehow managing to come across as prying and coy at the same time. They are close indeed. Closer than he thought. "Be ready for trouble, Princess. We're bound to get some unpleasantness at the border."

Leaving the Land of Fire has been easy enough. No one had questioned the leaf mark engraved on their headbands back then. Getting in will be far more problematic. With the war raging on security is tighter than ever. Every soul that demands to be granted entry is looked upon warily, granted an almost criminal status until proven otherwise.

They had to get down on the floor like piteous felons last time, hands locked behind their backs, and suffer through the rummage of inspecting fingers all over their apparel. Orochimaru nearly strangled the chunin assigned to search him when the whippersnapper tried to get him to stick out his tongue to check up for hidden weapons inside of his mouth. Truth be told, the snake jounin came close to allowing it, if only because he was tempted to let the brat find the Kusanagi indeed. Only Jiraiya's heavy look of warning stopped him from going through with his plans. The simpleton examining him probably never understood just how close he'd come to losing his life that miserable day.

Orochimaru grimaces at the memory. The recollection of the entire ordeal is still sour in his mind, enough to earn itself a physical manifestation on his porcelain face. If Tsunade detects any trace of his displeasure, she does well not to mention it. "You think there'll be more enemies kicking around from here on in?" she asks, hand distractedly sinking to her ninja tool holster as if to delve for a kunai, the motion done more by habit than wittingly.

It is a distinct possibility. Orochimaru imagines they'll mostly consist of spies and lesser things though, the ninja world's scavenger tailing whose job is to swarm borders and pick up on any weakness in the enemy's lineup of defense, not directly engage them. "Maybe. Probably. We should be prepared for it."

Some more silent minutes drag out between them.

"So…" Tsunade starts out indecisively again. "What do you plan to do once we're home? Will you get all busy with research like Jiraiya said?"

"Would it matter to you if I did?"

His female counterpart casts him something of an insulted glare. "Of course it would," the woman fusses timidly. "We're a team. I'd prefer it if we did things together…"

"Jiraiya isn't around anymore though," Orochimaru reminds her. "And won't be for a while."

"Yeah…"

"So we're technically no longer an operating team. Even if the two of us chose to stick together, they'd always place a third person with us to fill in the quota. And neither of us will accept him as Jiraiya's replacement." That much is clear.

Tsunade tosses her head like an angry lioness, matted blonde locks dangling around her uninhibited face as her tact gets momentarily brushed aside. "So what are you saying? That we should each just go our separate way?"

Orochimaru shrugs, unmoved by her slight indignation. "Military life can only offer so much. I intend to retire from it for a while. My research facility is situated near the Hidden Leaf so I won't quite be staying in the village, either." He eyes her sharply. "I don't suppose you'll want to linger there for too long yourself."

She might not know it, but Orochimaru has taken notice of the patterns in her recent behavior. Ever since her little brother's death, Tsunade has been on a constant, compulsive, almost chronic lookout for missions, as long-lasting and faraway as possible. The striving is probably done in some feeble attempt at changing the scenery, out of a last-ditch desire to escape the décor that reminds her so much of what has been had and lost.

Tsunade surprises him when she shakes her head. "No. I've had enough of that, too—the war." She says it with her lips curled, like an obscenity. "There are things I want to accomplish in the village… things I've been running from for quite a while. It's time I went about doing them."

The resolution burning up in her amber eyes piques Orochimaru's interest. "And just what things might those be, Princess?"

Tsunade peers into his curious eyes hesitantly, cheeks flushed. The woman blushes a lot, Orochimaru notes. "You… you wouldn't understand."

He chuckles huskily. "Past Jiraiya's debauched humor, you should know there's precious little I am incapable of understanding."

The jape earns him a faint smile. "His humor? You should try reading one of his books." They both shudder at just the thought of it. "I…" Tsunade begins more seriously, casting her gaze up towards the weeping sky. "I want to bring about change, Orochimaru. A change to our team matching scheme. So that more medics will be raised and educated to take to the battlefield. I think it will help us reduce our casualties many times over. And if less people get killed…" Her voice cracks slightly, her candid speech saturated with a personal undertone that threatens to outweigh the impartiality of her words. "If less people get killed, we stand a chance of winning this war. We can win it, end it, and still have comrades and loved ones to tell about it."

The entire elocution has been delivered in a single breath, bashfully, almost, yet with an undeniable passion. She looks away, her cheeks ablush and copper hair fanning out in the wind, the unmistakable spark of the strong emotion she has for her objective audible in her clear wide eyes.

He didn't think she'd have it in her. To stop wallowing in the sorry picture of her past mistakes. To reach out ahead into the future again. To truly _want_ something for once. Even though her goal appears to be far lesser than his own, that much more trivial, he feels the aspiration burn strongly within her, the same sort of desire that drives him onward toward his ambition.

Orochimaru lowers his eyelids in the rain, giving his teammate an almost tender look. "In that case I wish you the best of luck on your struggle to achieve it, Princess."

Tsunade smiles at him, and this time the stretch of her lips is not an immediate one, less theatrical and more her. "Does that mean we'll still be seeing each other, as a team? Helping each other out with our projects?"

Orochimaru admits he does not hate the notion of it. Tsunade is a fine physician, and will surely hasten the process of many of his experiments. Those of them he has dubbed appropriate to reside in his overt laboratory, that is.

"Hm. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

As expected, the border checkpoint is much less friendly from this side of the wall. The stone fence is high and long and crowned by a barbed wire, mechanical cannons and dozens of sentries perched along it like gargoyles. The intimation is quite clear: no one is welcome to wander idly around here. And as if that's not enough to get the message through, the wall is also preceded by a neck-deep trench with sharpened lances framing its run, their peaks protruding towards approaching newcomers like the warning of barred teeth.

Orochimaru frowns. That last bit was definitely not here when they left. He eyes the recent installation with suspicious serpentine eyes, sees Tsunade glower in distaste next to him. They approach the sight cautiously, ready to shout out their identification code to the patrolling sentinels.

Up close, the entire scene is almost barbaric. Everything smells of sulfur, forged iron and freshly hardened cement—all of warfare's trademark scents. The stonework of the winding wall is gray and solid, further fortified by piles of lugged rocks, and has the initials of the feudal lord smeared across it in blood. The headbands of fallen Stone, Sand, Cloud and Rain ninja—the countries holding territories that the Land of Fire has claims over—flutter impaled on pikes like war flags. The general sense of hostility is thick in the air, to the point of almost assuming a physical shape.

"Say…" Tsunade grumbles somberly, eyeballing the bloody inscription garnishing the high wall skeptically. _Domain to the Fire Lord_ , it says, the claim of ownership over the territories sprawling behind the restriction irritatingly ostentatious. "You notice anything odd here?"

"Which do you mean, Princess?" Orochimaru scoffs dryly. "The fact that we're serving under a feudal lord whose vanity rivals Manda's, or that they probably had to slaughter an entire farm's worth of perfectly edible swine to get that many gallons of blood?"

Tsunade clicks her tongue, staring daggers at virtually everything that surrounds them. She bites on her thumbnail, her typical act of declaring war on a problem.

"We're not supposed to be like that," the woman frets. "We're meant to be the diplomats. The peacemakers."

Orochimaru looks over the spikes and the blood and the broken headbands. Such sights have never bothered him, and they don't bother him now. It's all quite natural, really. War is war for all that fight in it. Everyone is the monster in the eyes of their foes.

The corners of his mouth stretch upward elegantly. "Hardly what comes to my mind when I look at this."

The comment earns him a long look of disapproval, his female comrade clearly unappreciative of his general attitude towards war. She purses her crannied lips, as if fighting the urge to say something back. Orochimaru comes to the conclusion that the woman must not take well to his stance on most of the world's workings. The events of their last mission have proved as much.

What she will never know is that Orochimaru wouldn't mind keeping his thoughts to himself. Whenever he expresses his bleak opinion like that, he does it for her and Jiraiya's sake, so that they will finally open their eyes to the reality they live in, grasp what it means to be a shinobi and quit wasting their breath canonizing their village and its superiors. So that they will do something useful with their time for a change. Perhaps even understand a bit of what he is trying to accomplish.

But they just stubbornly refuse to make the best of his benevolence.

"Halt!" a strained yell flies in from the control tower top, almost too skittishly for the authority it commands over. It seems the checkpoint has a new spokesman; a young one. Inexperienced as a suckling, no doubt. _Fresh blood in our ranks_ , Orochimaru observes acidulously. _And greener than it is red, by the looks of it._

Orochimaru wagers most of these boys and girls that valiantly guard the entrance to their homeland have hardly produced a corpse in their lives. It is a sad tide, really. The strong are either dead or growing old, and the young posses all the accomplishment of kitchen mice. The village goes far too easy on its youth these days. _Most of these could use a good_ _call-up or two to the Hidden Rain's most scorching military zone_. Few will return, but at least those who come back will be of certified quality.

Still, etiquette is etiquette. They both obey the youngster's command, throwing their hands up in the air as is customary. It might be the peddling patrol's first time guarding a border wall, but it sure isn't Orochimaru's first time probing his way across one.

"We're Leaf jounin!" Tsunade shouts out hoarsely, her strong voice echoing with far more potency than that of the watchman. Orochimaru finds it comical, the obvious misbalance of power going on there. "We have the password!"

"The password has been abolished!" arrives the cross answer. "We need your team's full signature!"

Orochimaru's face remains impassive even as his brows knit together. They can't give that. Not without Jiraiya. A team's group signature comes in three parts, one for each member, and each part is stored away in classified records so that it cannot be forged. Not even by a teammate.

This has been somewhat unexpected. They have not been away for more than a few weeks so he hasn't anticipated there to be any change in the regulations as the procedure is customarily a mundane and troublesome thing for the lawmakers to run by the administration of every watchtower and every checkpoint base. Yet here they are, required to turn in something they have no way of delivering. Orochimaru sets his jaw, hating every next breath they draw on this side of the wall. He wants nothing more than to be reunited with his darling toys and guinea pigs, and they happen to be waiting for him on the other side of the fence. Thanks to this little hitch, all of his plans are in jeopardy. _Jiraiya couldn't have picked a worse time to play babysitter with those Hidden Rain fleas._

At his side, Tsunade's face has blanched a notch, as if struggling to swallow down something sour. The woman must realize the unpleasant situation they are in because she tiptoes closer towards him with her hands still lifted up, tense eyes never leaving the top of the tower.

"Crap," she breathes. "Orochimaru, what do we do?"

"Hm. Just humor me, Princess," Orochimaru instructs serenely. "As you see, we're one man short," he raises his deep voice. "We are in no condition to give you a full signature."

"Then you won't pass!" cries the boy from the tower as if it has been personally insulted by their words.

"Are you to tell us that all of your soldiers that come back with deceased comrades are left for dead like dogs?"

"What are you doing?" Tsunade hisses at him quietly. "Jiraiya isn't dead!"

Orochimaru ignores her. Drastic words and certain exaggerations are required in these delicate kinds of situations. It's just how human minds work, recent children's minds most of all. No one in their sound mind would be swayed by the truth they have. It's way too suspicious, way too convenient, way too complicated to tell.

"We'll hand in our respective signatures, my companion and I," Orochimaru continues. "For that to happen, you need to let us inside."

There is a squabble breaking forth at the top of the tower. Only fragments of it reach their ears, and the strong echo combined with the rasping wind is too much of a distraction to make much of anything that's being said.

"You still cannot pass!" comes the final consensus.

Orochimaru grits his teeth. They are so very close to putting all of the Hidden Rain's plaguing experience behind them. He so close to being rounded up with all his precious discoveries and acquisitions, all the bloody syringes, all those phials filled with wonderfully mutated genes that collect dust in his research workshop. They are not about to let a group of children get in the way of that.

"You heard us?!" that irritating voice shrieks again. "You can't pass through! Now off with you!"

 _I can and I will, if I have to walk over your botched dead body._

"We are Orochimaru and Tsunade of the Hidden Leaf," Orochimaru spits out, parting with this bit of information all but reluctantly. "Students to Hiruzen Sarutobi, the acting Hokage and the feudal lord's most treasured ally."

"We have no ground to believe your claims!"

"So let us in so we can prove it!" Tsunade thunders. Orochimaru senses that all of the woman's pent-up rage is threatening to rear its ugly head. He doesn't hear the child-guard's gulp of fear but he has no trouble sensing it, that and the hesitation as the boy stares them down like a baby sparrow peeking at the foxes down below from its nest. Perhaps it's not a bad thing entirely, Tsunade's notorious short-temperedness. But even that is not enough to get them across the wall.

"As if we're letting Hidden Rain scouts into our country! For all we know you could be just that!"

Diplomacy is failing them, thoroughly and on all counts. Were it someone more experienced standing atop of that wall, they would have grasped the fact that not every situation is just black and white. It's a shame they've lucked out on the children, who typically possess the most reckless sense of honor of all.

Looking back to the forest that they've just left behind, Orochimaru catches glimpses of many eyes stitched to them, yellow and obscure and cat-like. _We should not stay out here through the night._ They may very well not survive it. Orochimaru's gaze crawls back up to the central tower cabin. It is an ill-timed hiccup to have, to say the least. They are hungry and spent and embittered, and quite frankly at the end of their tether. Orochimaru comes to the decision that they _will_ enter their homeland all within the next couple of minutes, and nothing will thwart their intentions, least of all some pesky children with breast milk still on their chins.

"Prepare to break in, Princess," Orochimaru hisses out.

His female comrade gapes at him, scandalized. "Are you insane?!" she whispers loudly. "They are our allies! And need I remind you there's like a hundred of them and just two of us?"

Orochimaru narrows his serpentine eyes at her, scrutinizing her reluctance coldly. "Do you wish to have to spend another night in this wretched country?"

Tsunade throws her head back to glare at the woeful scenery that looms at their backs, quivering in disinclination.

"Make up your mind quickly, Princess."

Tsunade bites down on her lower lip in frustration. "Damn it, we'll have to gamble on it..." She closes her eyes and sighs, sucks in a deep breath hesitantly. "We… we won't hurt anyone. We'll just force our way in so we can give them the damn signature, and then we'll be on our way."

"Follow my lead," Orochimaru commands with the dangerous sort of calmness that never fails to set his enemies into a state of doubt.

They both take care to remain with their hands up in the air, their postures not giving away their intentions in any way. Examining the obstacles that are layered ahead of them, Orochimaru quickly begins devising a plan. His mind goes through multiple sketches of imaginary routes, estimating which one would best suit their purpose. They need to overcome the trench while keeping out of the cannons' reach, dash up the wall without getting perforated by the crawling chakra-charged wire, and then make it to the tower's landing with minimum scuffles. It will not be a simple endeavor to take on, but they've had worse. Nothing seems as inconceivable after Hanzo.

"On my mark," Orochimaru says lowly when he fixes on a course of action.

Tsunade nods her head and they both bend forward, assuming their battle stances, kunai whirling in their deft hands.

"Is that how you welcome your war heroes?" A foreign voice cuts in just as they are about to leap forward over the spike-flanked pit.

Orochimaru and Tsunade turn back sharply to get a look at the source of the sudden interruption. Behind them stands a tall and slender man, roughly their age, with long, pale blue hair that reaches his back, and the Hidden Leaf trademark hollowed out on his headband. "Identify yourself!" the supposed commander-in-chief squalls from the tower, the cannons' round muzzles directing themselves at the blue-haired man intimidatingly.

The man smiles unabashedly, pointing at his face with his thumb. "It's me, Hachiro. Dan Kato." The name means nothing to Orochimaru but it seems to put the racket above them on hold.

There is a pause.

"Lord Dan is out in the field indeed… but just how will you prove you're not a sham?!"

The man just keeps boasting that virtuous smile of his, so convincing that Orochimaru cannot tell if it is a façade or something genuine. "I can see why you would be wary of strangers, even if they appear to carry the faces of friends… Well, will this help put your worries at ease?"

The man snaps his fingers and _catches fire_ , or so it appears. In truth, it's just a very bright, arctic light projecting itself from his body, overhanging his downcast frame like a ghost. It _is_ a ghost, Orochimaru realizes in slight curiosity a moment later when the hologram begins to take shape. The man's life essence appears to be hanging halfway out of his body, as if he had a transparent conjoined twin rooting from his back.

Orochimaru observes the unique jutsu in a mixture of scientific interest and sheer animosity. They did not need to be rescued by a stranger, and Orochimaru certainly has no wish to leave the impression that he owes anyone any favors.

"Wow," Tsunade exclaims beside him, clearly not sharing his skepticism, face seemingly transfixed by the bluish hue that surrounds the man like a cloak of cold fire.

"How about it, Hachiro?" the ghost of the man whose name is Dan asks, his mild voice oddly enhanced, deeper somehow.

There are some muffled 'oh's amidst the defenders' ranks, then some heated discussing, and then, "Oh… Lord Dan! Why yes, of course, we recognize you now! How nice to see you here!"

The ghost retracts back into the man's body, almost casually.

"These people are Hidden Leaf ninja," Dan says as he comes up to stand between Orochimaru and Tsunade, annoyingly and without invitation. "I can verify that. Please let them pass."

They let them pass.

The victory is an acrid one. Not that Orochimaru isn't moderately relieved to have avoided gambling their reputation with an all-out attack on their own allies. He just doesn't like to have this Dan person to thank for it.

* * *

They allow the two of them give their signatures at long last, and once their identity has been confirmed they collectively agree to spend the night inside of the northern tower. Orochimaru and his female comrade are given a single room, the operating landlord smiling apologetically for being 'so overcrowded, you see'.

This is hardly the first time they have been in a position to share an apartment. He and Tsunade settle in the opposite corners of it, respectful of each other's privacy as per usual. Jiraiya has always been the main intruder of personal space in the team, the only one who's made a habit of excessively touching his teammates.

"Say, Orochimaru…" Tsunade hums softly right before they drift off to sleep.

"Hm?"

"We wouldn't have hurt anyone, right?"

Orochimaru pauses his repositioning. For a moment he considers telling the woman what she wishes to hear for the sake of easing her giddy conscious, but that's just not in his style. He turns his back on her questioning face. "It's in the past, Princess. Best not to dwell on it."

She gives out a quiet, indiscernible noise, something between a yawn and a guilt-ridden sigh. "…Then I suppose it was very nice of that person with the pretty jutsu to show up and patch things up peacefully."

Orochimaru's lips curl sourly at her choice of epithet, but of course Tsunade can't see it. He has decided to dislike the man, but that is not the reason for his reaction. Something of a suspicion is forming up in his head… He will have to wait and see if it's worth acting on. For now, he will just have to suppress getting a wry face at the mention of the man.

* * *

Orochimaru has been having a hard time suppressing a wry face all morning. Tsunade has insisted that the two of them went to deliver their gratitude to the blue-haired jounin in person despite Orochimaru's best effort to slither his way free of the bidding. She is practically dragging him across the hall now, stifling his reluctance with a firm grip on his collar.

"Hey! Thank you for helping us out earlier," Tsunade tweets cheerfully as they catch up with the man, her tone saccharine enough to make Orochimaru's stomach turn. "You know, with the entire misunderstanding and all of that. Your name is Dan, isn't it?"

Dan's step comes to a halt as he turns around to greet them politely. There's something unsettling in the way his lavender hair strings along his movements like water; the man is not quite like anything, not exactly harmful but nothing to be relaxed around, either.

"It is. And it's quite alright. I suppose we all got lucky that I knew the patrols. Even so, I'm not happy with this border checkpoint arrangement myself."

Orochimaru settles a few feet away from the two of them, leaning his back against the wall with his arms crossed in disinterest, enduring the boring conversation just for the sake of not getting hit by Tsunade. He is also bashful to admit he doesn't know what to make of this man. Perhaps engaging in a bit of a lawful eavesdropping will help diffuse the nothingness that encompasses this plain yet oddly undefined figure.

"It's horrible, isn't it?" Tsunade agrees indignantly. Orochimaru doesn't understand why she does not pick up on the strangeness surrounding this man, how she can be so unconcerned around him, to the point of being informal and direct in her reactions.

"It's what war has forced upon men." Orochimaru lifts up his head, curious about the impartial, crude statement. Perhaps this man is not so unlike him, after all… "That's why I want to stop it," the man adds, ruining everything. Orochimaru turns his head away, annoyance creeping right back in. He is nothing like him alright. "The desire to protect others is the only thing that stands between us and those we call beasts. I'd give my life to break us free of that cycle, while we still have friends we want to protect."

"I'd like it to stop too…" Tsunade nods, an odd, pensive expression crossing her face. She quickly straightens herself. "How did you know we were from the Hidden Leaf anyway?"

Dan scratches his head sheepishly. "It's part of my abilities to… read people's intentions. At first all I could sense was that you two were about to turn violent." Tsunade blushes deeply at that, averting her gaze.

"We—"

"But deeper down," Dan interposes quickly, "I could see you just wanted to go home."

Tsunade stares at him, wide-eyed and still blushing generously. "I see…"

Orochimaru is the only one who basks in the awkward silence that falls between them.

"Oh, I never did quite ask: your names were?"

"Of course! I'm Tsunade and this here is Orochimaru." She shoots him a greet-or-die glare. Opting to go with the former, Orochimaru gives a half-hearted nod, intense serpentine eyes fixed firmly on the man's forest green ones. He is annoyed when the man doesn't flinch, or scowl, or do anything at all.

"We're just returning from our mission," Tsunade explains routinely.

"And where is your third…? Don't tell me he…" Dan's face falls, and it's another one of those melancholic, textbook expressions with a dubious sort of sincerity that Orochimaru cannot quite classify. Orochimaru cannot decide if the man is a dangerously good actor, or just plain prosaic.

Tsunade's eyes widen. "It's nothing like that! Don't worry. He just took a little detour to take care of something. He'll be back shortly."

"I see. Well, I'm happy to hear it."

And the smile he gives her is so serene and simple, it makes Orochimaru want to vomit his Kusanagi all over the man. What claims does this person possibly think he has over Jiraiya that might give him the right to be happy or sad or in any way involved with the man's well-being?

"Let's go, Princess," Orochimaru impels, pushing himself away from the wall and stalking away in brusque strides. "The Hidden Leaf is a long way off."

"Right… Would you like to join us on our way home, Dan?"

He doesn't see it, but he can _hear_ the remorseful shake of Dan's head. "I still have some business to take care of around here but I do hope to see more of you in the future. Perhaps we can work together on stopping this war."

Orochimaru is almost around the corner when he turns back to see Tsunade isn't quite following him. He sets his teeth noisily, pointedly, but Tsunade is talking right over his sounds. "I'd like that…"

"Do hurry up, Princess."

"I said I'm coming!" she yells at him gratingly, flashing her teeth, putting on display a side of her Orochimaru is unused to having to deal with. For a moment there, he gets the involuntary, ridiculous feeling that he is observing the world through the eyes of a certain white-haired teammate, the man standing over at the other end of the hallway some crooked, unsophisticated version of himself.

The feeling galls him deeply. _That man is nothing like me._ _There are no men like me._ The world is not big enough to accommodate another person like Orochimaru.

"I'm going, Tsunade," Orochimaru almost yet not quite snaps, having had about enough of this little nerve-wracking charade. "Catch up with me later if you still plan on departing today." And with that, he disappears round the corner.

"I—I need to get going as well," Tsunade's muted voice stammers out. Orochimaru doesn't get to hear the sweet tinge in her tone all too often, but when he does, he decidedly cannot stand it.

"Until we meet again, Tsunade," Dan says formally, the sound of his moralistic voice amplifying Orochimaru's need of earplugs tenfold.

He doesn't stay to hear what Tsunade murmurs in response.

* * *

They both travel in silence, wordlessly agreeing on going through something of a fallout. They don't argue all that often, he and Tsunade, what with Jiraiya pinning their entire grudge to himself like a magnet, but whenever the two of them are left alone they usually keep things civil, too. This time, however, they both feel slighted, he can tell. When a whole day passes without a single word slipping between them, Orochimaru discovers the woman's stubbornness is almost a match to his own.

"You could have waited five more minutes, you know," Tsunade rumbles at some point. Orochimaru takes it as a sign of armistice. He sighs and finally gives voice to his concerns, hoping she won't make him regret his decision.

"Doesn't it bother you that he came up from the Hidden Rain?"

She rewards him with a surprised frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. What business do you think he had there on his own?"

Tsunade's frown deepens. He has no idea why she has been going out of her way to defend the man ever since they met him. "The same business us three had. To fight the war."

Except there are no single-man missions as far up into the warzone and they both know it. And the man hasn't made mention of any dead comrades. In fact, he has put up an exceptionally placid exterior ever since they met him. His timing, his calm, the very nature of his emergence… it's all so very opportune.

And the informer that betrayed them to Hanzo is still out there…

It is a mere flicker of a thought. Just a notion. Orochimaru is not one to jump to conclusions, after all. Still, the fact that the thought has emerged in his head in the first place is bothersome enough. Granted, the face the man now bears is an unfamiliar one, but he could have easily disguised himself with a decent transformation technique earlier had he wanted his identity to remain undisclosed. None of them had been particularly preoccupied with scrutinizing their allies back then. Then again, no one had expected a turncoat to be roving in their midst.

It's all quite simple, really. The one who is not dead is the double-crosser. Sadly, they don't know who that person is. So the question remains: was Dan Kato among them? If so, the man hardly has a reason to return to his village only to get incarcerated or lynched.

Things don't quite add up.

Orochimaru needs to take a closer look into the matter. Perhaps he will partake in some legally questionable sifting through certain data files once they get back to the village. Why of course, it's only natural he'd take an interest in his fallen allies' background, the ones who heroically gave their lives in their battle with Hanzo. It's no wonder he'd wish to commemorate their sacrifice by getting to know them a bit better. Them and their teammates...

Until then, he needs to keep an eye on this Dan, if just to rule out the possibility. Traitor or not, the man has aroused Orochimaru's suspicion, and the snake jounin is not one to ignore his instincts. Especially instincts that advise him to beware, examine or kill. He disrelishes the idea of spending another instant in the proximity of this individual, but really, what's a suspicious snake to do? He cannot entrust the task with anyone else, and has only himself to rely on.

In this case, this isn't the last they've seen of the man indeed. Orochimaru hasn't let up on his intentions to trace this scheme down to its very core. Who knows? Perhaps he'll find an interesting piece of information sitting at the bottom of it all. Lord knows it's been too long since he last stumbled upon a fascinating secret…

* * *

 **notes:**  
1\. S-so long... o.o Before they were too short, now they are too lengthy, whelp. I know it's my fault but we must collectively face the fact that I can't seem to set a standard length for my chapters, guys. It's all so damn unsplittable, ugh. I feel so not in control of my own writing. I do however promise that this problem will be dealt with once I have the whole thing outlined and get an overall impression of the work I've done.  
2\. In addition to this chapter, I've also gone through some substantial editing of all my previous chapters. Nothing plot-related, it's just that when I tried to read some of it to my cousin (he's a junior and in the process of learning English so we thought it might help), there were moments when I went 'ew, what clumsy writing'. So I edited things in and out because why not. I'm nowhere near satisfied with my work, of course (what writer ever is), but at least it's mostly not an eye-sore anymore, lol.


	10. Where Leaves Dance

**IX.  
Where Leaves Dance**

They return to the Hidden Leaf on a windy afternoon, dragging along a scorching sunset at their backs.

Tsunade's mood decidedly cheers as they near the village, to the point where Orochimaru actually has to hammer on his step to keep pace with her. The woman has definitely been in a rush throughout their journey into the Land of Fire, and, while his reasons diverge vastly and darkly from hers, the same can be said about her dark-haired teammate. Of course that doesn't stop her from taking no less than one hot springs, three drinking, and five gambling detours, from which they both come off as good as broke.

Well, Orochimaru is broke. Tsunade has managed to go broke _and_ in debt.

Orochimaru doesn't even shake his head at her financial recklessness anymore. He attributes it to a fatal combination of being born into good fortune, having grown up under the bad influence of a bettor grandfather, and having a natural inclination to spend—or _invest_ , as she likes to put it—more quickly than even her enviable missions record can earn back. What's even worse is that since their childhood years Tsunade has made a nasty habit of dragging her snake teammate to these unsavory, seedy cabarets she takes to, and for no other reason than out of silly superstition. _Snakes bring good luck_ , she always tweets, as if that explains the half of it.

Orochimaru never grasped the logic behind the woman's obsessive urge to bet away everything she has laying odds on dice, sweepstake, roulette, poker, wheel of fortune and Lord knows what other hokum, relying on something as imponderable as luck to dip the scales in her favor. Truth be told, whenever she falls into one of her fits she is not at all unlike Jiraiya.

Honestly, the stupidity of both his teammates sometimes. Tsunade with her luck and Jiraiya with his fate, equal parts slaves to this _Fortuna_ they both can't stop going on about. It's irrational, usually ends up leading to catastrophe, and Orochimaru doesn't get it in the slightest.

"It was the snap," Tsunade has tried justifying her latest failure, as if the excuse would somehow magically materialize between her wiggling fingers.

Orochimaru recalls quirking an incredulous eyebrow. "Twenty-six times in a row?"

She rewarded him with one of her impossibly sweet, notorious smiles. "Shush, or I'll kill you."

He has not dared press her any further.

Orochimaru decides not to dwell on the little irritations that have punctuated their laggard trip anymore, choosing to turn his focus to the myriad of activity sprawling ahead of them. At last, the Hidden Leaf. People are scuttling like ants in the shadows of motley buildings that sprout over one another with all the orderliness of bumbling mushrooms, the entire village resting at the feet of the Hokage Rock like an exotic oasis of peace and quiet in the middle of a war-torn desert.

Neither for the first nor for the last time in his lifetime does Orochimaru swallow down the scoff before it reaches his pale white face. The gullibility of them all. Sarutobi-sensei's governance has bred a herd of complacent, perfectly docile sheep. Nurtured with ignorance and nourished with hope or some such nonsense. _The wolves could come at your doorstep and you wouldn't even recognize them…_

What matters is they have returned. The customary outline of the ever-open central gates manifests languidly before their eyes. A few more strides' worth of waiting and they will each get on with their much anticipated tasks.

They are welcomed by a familiar whirl of leaves—the strong wind swirling around them like a caring parent, as if to greet them, bringing the smell of freshness along with a helix of blurry shamrock dots, greener and thicker than anywhere their ventures have led them—and a very indolent Sakumo Hatake. The man is perched on the high entrance arch, effectively replacing half of the welcoming notice with his body so that now it reads _'Welcome to the village of the_ —lounging silver-haired ninja— _Leaf_ '. Passersby throw their heads up at him and whisper among themselves in hushed perplexity or disapproval, yet the man's growing reputation is already enough to keep most of his opposers at arm's length. A truth proven by the fact that no one seems to dare tell him to come down. The man remains seemingly unperturbed by any of this, head rested on one of his hands casually while he holds up a carefully bound book to his face with the other.

"Sakumo!" Tsunade sings out, shielding her eyes from the bleeding sun as she squints up. "Sakumo Hatake! Is that you?"

The man doesn't seem in any particular hurry to lower his reading matter, but when he does, he casts them a benign smile. "Oh, so you've returned. I suppose that's a 'welcome home', then."

The man's typical impassiveness is there in his voice, as usual. If Orochimaru didn't know better, he might be left under the impression that this man has little care for anything in this world. But his devotion to the Hidden Leaf runs deep, Orochimaru knows. Much deeper than first meets the eye.

"I see you've come back before us!"

"It appears so."

"So was your mission a success?"

"Mhm. Yours?"

Tsunade lowers her head, golden locks framing her crestfallen face. "Well…"

"We had a traitor in our ranks," Orochimaru explains laconically. "Walked us straight into an ambush." He and Sakumo have something of a rivalry going on between them that dates back to their academy days—a good, productive rivalry that helps the both of them to improve, certainly nothing like his rows with Jiraiya—and Orochimaru does not like to fall behind on anything without citing a solid reason for it.

They have panned out in staying on equal ground as they progressed through their chunin years, he and the Hatake scion, forever sharing the primacy of their generation. They even got their jounin promotions on the same day, after a succession of impeccably carried out A-rank missions and Sarutobi-sensei overseeing a particularly ardent sparring session between the two of them. It was exactly three months before the war broke out and Orochimaru still remembers the pride, respect and tinge of envy with which his teammates looked upon him in those days when he was assigned the crew leadership, them no longer team Hiruzen, no, but a death squad with a clear mission.

That is until they followed in his footsteps after proving their valor through a few swift victories across the rocky dunes of the Hidden Sand. Sakumo's teammates followed too, as if only to aid him in matching Orochimaru in this domain as well.

Even now their respective fame is somewhat leveled, although they have taken to different battlefields. The Hidden Leaf's silver and onyx generals, that's what they call him and Sakumo whenever they stroll through the village side by side, countless of saucer-eyed, dull looks stitched to them, full of hope for the leaders of tomorrow.

And they certainly deserve the reputation, even if Orochimaru has no plans of fulfilling the role society seems to except from him.

Sakumo's many exploits in the torrid heart of the Hidden Sand have earned him the singular nickname of the Leaf's White Fang, renowned words that strike fear into the hearts of his enemies already. Orochimaru's own feats in the Hidden Stone and now the Hidden Rain have secured him a breath on everybody's lips, as they mention him with respect and wonderment, he who is due to surpass the Hokage himself, the prodigy, the genius, and now one of the Sannin as well—the three lion-hearted figures who stood their ground against none other than the Salamander devil himself. Of course it will be a while before that last bit gets to truly sink in people's minds, but they will come around. Orochimaru is patient. He can wait for power and influence to come to him. He has nothing but time.

And, given his recent research, he might even have more of it on his hands than the mundane chains of biological laws have predetermined. _Much, much more…_

Sakumo nods his head grimly, hearing Orochimaru's words now, scratches his head pensively. "A sellout, huh… There seems to be a lot of these running around lately."

They each fall silent, wordlessly agreeing with the somber sentiment.

"Aren't you going to ask about Jiraiya?" Tsunade wonders.

Sakumo smiles sheepishly. "Oh, I assumed from your happy waltzing into the village that there was nothing to worry about."

Tsunade sighs, but cracks an impressed grin. "I see you haven't lost your sharpness while we were away. I guess that early jounin promotion wasn't wasted on you, huh? Yes, you got that right. The moron's fine alright… and you'll never believe where he asked us to drop him off."

"Oh? So what is it this time?" Sakumo's smile widens, almost scampishly. "A damsel in distress? A _married_ damsel in distress? Could it be both?"

"War orphans," Orochimaru answers impassively, keeping the curdling away from his lips. "In the middle of the Hidden Rain."

Sakumo's perceptive black eyes narrow, versatile as ever, understanding reading in their bottomless pits. "Well, I suppose it was due to come to this eventually."

Tsunade kicks a pebble out of her way, a frog of all creatures jumping out from beneath it by chance or fate. She is too young for the lines on her face. "Idiots will be idiots…"

Sakumo smiles encouragingly down at her, in a similar fashion to Jiraiya's nonchalant beaming whenever he is trying to soothe their female counterpart, but nothing quite so devoted. Still, it's an expression of friendliness that exerts a heartening effect on Tsunade, one Orochimaru himself never seems to be able to muster. "It's all water under the bridge, now. And if there's one person who can pull off such a bold move, it's definitely him."

Tsunade seems to dust off the dejection from her face with some effort. "Yeah…"

"So, have you two spoken to Lord Hokage yet?" They both shake their heads. "Sent word that you were coming, at least?" Another negative. "Oh my. You better hurry along, then. I swear that man has gained a white hair for each day you three have been absent. I'd expect to be in for some serious loving if I were you."

Tsunade dips her head in acknowledgment and grabs Orochimaru by the sleeve, hauling him along like a human trailer.

He gives a half-hearted struggle to break his wrist free from her grip, which is proving to be a difficult enough task, considering she has the physical prowess to snap him in two. "Not your bag of groceries, Princess…" Orochimaru mutters lowly, so lowly he'll be surprised if she's even caught it.

Tsunade disperses his annoyance with a royal, dismissive wave of her finger in front of his face. "Yes yes… It's just that you can be such a _sluggish_ hiker sometimes." The accusation is entirely out of hand. His strides are perfectly adequate. It's just that he refuses to keep pace with her moods, and that irks her. "If anyone gets to be that, it's me, you know. Get it? I summon slugs."

Orochimaru barely suppresses an eye roll. "That's hardly of consequence. I am perfectly capable of walking by myself. You don't _have_ to always lug me like one of your underclothing boutique shopping carts—"

"Keep it up, Orochimaru!" Tsunade glances back up at Sakumo—who is observing them from his improvised daybed atop the arch, the deep lines creeping under his eyes turned up in mild amusement—and smiles nervously at him, cheeks flaming up. "Uh… Thanks for giving us the heads-up, Sakumo! We'll see you around!"

"No problem. By the way, Orochimaru," Sakumo calls after them. Orochimaru turns to face him. "Competition's becoming a bit stale these days. Don't be a stranger. Come spar with me again sometime."

A smile ghosts across Orochimaru's colorless lips. "Perhaps I will."

* * *

They haven't even made it to the elongated shade of the dome-like Hokage mansion when Hiruzen Sarutobi intercepts their path, scant of breath and in slight disarray, his customary full-length haori flying around him in agitated carmine-and-white waves, the Hokage hat just a bit askew as it mounts his grizzled head.

Tsunade saws the air in greeting, shouting out their arrival from afar. "We're home, sensei!"

The Hokage sashays across the busy street with the swiftness of a panther, drawing the surprised gazes of chance passersby. The man moves all too quickly for someone who is supposedly treading the beginnings of his dotage. Their teacher stands before them, Orochimaru already towering a few inches above him, the oddest mixture of gratitude, relief and a touch of heartache tautening his senescent face.

Tsunade greets politely, bowing her head in respect on behalf of the both of them, her typical concern of a medic apparent in the way she worriedly inspects the livid expression of their former tutor. "Hey, Sarutobi-sense—"

The man catches them both off guard when he steps forward and _hugs_ them, throwing his arms around their necks and pulling them down for an unadulterated display of misguided teacherly affection.

"My pupils…"

Orochimaru finds the crack in their quondam teacher's voice nothing short of pathetic. That and the way he clings to his students like a drowning man to straws, unbecoming of the Hokage, nearly breaking their vertebrae in his momentary spur of rushing emotions. On top of that, the close proximity of the man has always unsettled Orochimaru on more than one level. He usually does not like to be touched, but when _he_ does it, it galls him even more than the act of physical contact in general. Not so much for its somatic aspect as for the misplaced parental undercurrent he always detects from these ordeals. Orochimaru has not been in need of a parent's touch in years, a simple fact Sarutobi-sensei cannot seem to absorb in his principled little mind, and subsequently let go of.

"I sent you on that course of action," the Hokage yammers bitterly, his words full of honorable, nonsensical regret. _And people wonder where Jiraiya gets it from._ "It was my foolishness as a Hokage that led you on a path to Hanzo of the Salamander. If something had happened to any of you three, I would have never forgiven myself."

"There there, it's OK, sensei," Tsunade mumbles, patting their teacher's back and shaking shoulders soothingly. "We made it back in one peace, didn't we?"

The Hokage draws back, sucking in a deep breath before reassuming a more becoming stance for an industrial and military leader. The many spectators that have discreetly gathered round to bear witness to the scene get on with their afternoon chores, but not before smiling at the heartfelt reunion, or leering jestingly at the Hokage's softness.

"And where is Jiraiya, that rascal? I heard he wasn't with you on the border." As usually, news reaches the Hokage more quickly than anticipated. "Someone even said you two had initially reported him dead, but then went and marked him off-duty. You cannot imagine what you've done to my health!"

"See, Orochimaru," Tsunade scolds. "That stunt you pulled has nearly given Sarutobi-sensei a heart-attack."

The Hokage smiles indulgently. "Well, I wouldn't go as far as this…"

"I mean," Tsunade goes on in her scientific tone, oblivious to the irritated vein that throbs on their former scholar's forehead, "he's practically an old man now. We should be more careful with how we deliver our news because his cardiovascular system is that much more likely to burst to bits—"

Their former sensei coughs loudly. "Ahem! I am in perfectly good health, thank you very much. But it's always nice to hear a confirmation from a specialist, _Tsunade_."

Tsunade bites her lip and crosses her arms, pouting, sliding back into the role of the thoroughly spoiled village princess in a heartbeat. Orochimaru honestly prefers her like when they are out there, surrounded by enemies, as war pulls out the raw lioness from within her and puts a wild glimmer in her eye; when she is covered in blood and killing with little hesitation. That's when he sometimes feels, briefly, as if she could one day grow to understand him and his reasons. But then their missions draw to a close and those thoughts slip far away from his mind. How could she possibly understand? He wonders how the idea has ever crossed his mind in the first place, whenever he gets to see her like this, all soft and harmless, sheathing her claws of her own free will. The change in her almost disgusts him. She'll never be able let go completely and utterly the way he has, Orochimaru realizes. Deep down, Tsunade is still a coward.

The Hokage sighs tiredly. "So where, pray tell, did Jiraiya run off to? Don't tell me it's an angry husband all over again."

Orochimaru finds it slightly comical, how everyone keeps expecting the same sort of depraved indiscretions from their white-haired teammate. Not that the perverted man hasn't given them plenty of cause to presume the worst of him in the past.

Tsunade shrugs in seeming indifference, but it's clear to Orochimaru that she is trying to keep the emotion form her voice. At least she has some sense of preserving her self-image as a respectful ninja. "No, he's off resolving daddy issues with some Hidden Rain orphans this time."

Sarutobi-sensei's face obtains a reflective expression, a touch more appropriate for the Hokage title. "I suppose it can't be helped… Jiraiya has never been one to look the other way when faced with troubled individuals. We shall simply have to put our trust in him and await his safe return."

Orochimaru crosses his arms, serpentine eyes drifting towards the village aviary, where birds fly in an out on a string of clapping wings and distant croaks. "His was not the only return that got hindered, of course… None of this would have happened had we been able to carry on with our mission."

"Yeah, sensei. We got double-crossed. We don't know who did it. There was barely enough time to exchange introductions so we didn't get all of their names." Tsunade lowers her eyelids guiltily. "It all happened very fast so we aren't sure who died when... We weren't able to identify most of the corpses during the battle, but we counted them, and one had definitely escaped." She steps forward, clutching her precious necklace. "If there's anything we can do to help, sensei—"

"The matter is being looked into," the Hokage cuts her off sternly, confirming Orochimaru's suspicions that the man has already delved into the affair personally. "You two can rest assured."

Orochimaru closes his eyes. _So you'd sooner leave your students in the dark than allow him to be privy to these secret matters, sensei… Not very fatherly of you, now, is it? Not at all._ "Hm."

"What took you two so long to get back anyway?" the Hokage inquires, shifting the subject all but blatantly.

Orochimaru clicks his tongue, side eyeing Tsunade pointedly. "We would have arrived sooner if _someone_ hadn't stopped to gamble, repeatedly."

Tsunade groans, but throws her head to the side in capitulation. Sarutobi-sensei sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh dear. I trusted you'd restrain her this time, Orochimaru."

"I'm not her keeper," Orochimaru answers plainly.

Sarutobi-sensei rubs his temples, as if fighting to fend off an impending headache. "Just how much is this going to cost me?"

Next to him, Tsunade is already giggling nervously. "N-not that much! I only played a little this time, you see..."

"Nine hundred sixty-seven thousand, three hundred fifty-eight Ryo," Orochimaru clarifies.

Tsunade shoots him a homicidal glare. "Didn't you, like, just say you weren't my keeper?"

"Now now, don't start on it, you two," the Hokage cuts in in a didactic fashion. "You've both just made it back from a long and tiresome mission; don't let your frustrations get the best of you."

They both stare their teacher down wearily. "Didn't you kind of… just do that same thing when you went all cuddly on us, sensei?" Tsunade mutters quietly.

The Hokage brushes off the accusation with a fit of throaty, exaggerated laughter. "Ahahaha! Let's not point fingers from day one, eh, Tsunade? You must be very tired, and trust your old sensei's word for it when I tell you that you could both use a good shower! Ahahaha!"

They visibly cringe at their teacher's pitiful attempt to get out of the tight spot. _And to think the man is an accomplished diplomat…_

"You two go on ahead now," the Hokage urges them with a pat to their backs. "But make sure you stop by Shushuya later tonight. We'll be arranging something of a celebration to honor your and Sakumo Hatake's return."

Tsunade's eyes glint mischievously at the mention of free alcohol. "A party? How nice!"

"Will you have the time, sensei?" Orochimaru scoffs, already dreading the idea of another loud, overcrowded, and utterly redundant get-together.

"I always make time for my students, Orochimaru," the Hokage answers earnestly. "Just like you will for yours one day, if you so happen to wear this hat…"

The man's fingers skip over the triangular token of the Hokage authority, lowering it over his head, and it might be just Orochimaru's imagination but he senses a certain degree of protectiveness in the gesture. _How could I wear it, sensei? You don't seem to be in a hurry to take it off yourself…_

That last bit is treading muddy waters. Orochimaru narrows his hazel eyes at the man before he and Tsunade depart for their respective houses, not at all certain whether their sensei's final words have been a warning, an educator's naive hopefulness, or something else entirely.

* * *

At evening, the Hidden Leaf is as sparkly as a long and twisting garland. The mercantilism of it all, the sheer meretriciousness of every lantern goggling down with its single yellow eye at bustling crowds—bare shoulders brushing against one another casually like it's nothing, the scent of salty sweat that Orochimaru's sensitive tongue picks up involuntarily dampening the air to the point of constriction—every colorful, umbrella-like rooftop that floats lower level ninja's junket on the occasion of completing their first C-rank mission or something equally negligible, all of it has slipped Orochimaru's memory in the weeks past. But now he is being unpleasantly reminded as to why he hates roving the village at night, unless it's to take in a fresh test subject for his latest experiment from the local prison.

Which brings him to another sour matter. Thanks to being forced to partake in this little sociable roundup, he has had but a few moments to tend to his apartment, which has been empty and neglected for weeks, see to his grooming and take care of his stacked chores without being late for the stupid carousal. Because he will absolutely _not_ leave his house without dusting.

Jiraiya might have sneered at his rigor, but then again Jiraiya likes controlled chaos. Clings to it, even. Causes it when it is not there. Orochimaru is a man of order. He detests it when his house falls into a state of shambles and nothing has its rightful place anymore—something he most graphically remembers as a natural aftereffect of his teammates' coercive sleepovers, when they'd come to his quarters uninvited and invasive and grinning, sporting goofy smiles, footie pajamas and questionable personal hygiene tools that made his blood curdle in fear for his property. He still recalls the events vividly, like straight out of a horror show, when those two used to violate his lounge in the cruelest ways imaginable with their movables scattered into incoherence and their muddy sandals staining his carpeted floors.

But those fits of terror have thankfully diluted over the years.

They rarely come to visit anymore—they haven't the time, what with their team disbanded and all of them occupied as prominent jounin. Orochimaru is thankful to be spared the headaches, but it does get… quiet sometimes. At least there was movement back then. He hates it even more when things go stale around here, must and cobwebs coating his scanty possessions with their grey blankets.

But that is nothing compared to the frustration of not getting as much as a wistful glance at either of his laboratories. This, this has been the true blow. After so many weeks away from his carefully wrapped bloodline tissues and stem cell samples, he doesn't even get to say hello on his first night back, forced to sit through a night of pointless socializing that will not benefit his strivings in the slightest.

Orochimaru scrubs his room clean in screeching silence, all the while feeling like he's had something precious snatched away from his grasp by cruel hands. _Soon_ , he tells himself. _Patience. Power comes to those who know when to bide their time._

* * *

The Shushuya inn is and has always been a sabbatical nest for the better part of their generation, a dimly lit tavern where sake flows freely, as do people's tales. Strictly speaking, Orochimaru's and Sakumo's teams _are_ the better part of their generation, the most accredited one at least. But that never seems to stop the others from flocking in around them, as if they have any right to share their air.

They are all sitting alongside an oblong oaken table, Sarutobi-sensei helming the unfortunate brunch, ordering beverage, sashimi and sweets for everyone, albeit, Orochimaru notices, without making any explicit commitment to the final bill. Orochimaru has lost count of just how many people have been able to fit into the medium-sized restaurant. It feels like half the village. Knowing his luck, it's probably the more annoying half.

"And, and that time when lord Orochimaru saved me," Amanone, Sakumo's former teammate, frets and flusters next to Orochimaru, blushing heavily. It's a terribly crass hue that makes the young woman's face look like a ripe plum more than anything, certainly nothing like Tsunade. Orochimaru doesn't remember the incident she is jabbering on about. In all honesty, no one seems to remember it aside from the girl herself. Probably because it never happened, at least not in the way she's telling it.

"You were so awesome that day, Orochi!"

Orochimaru hates hearing that nickname when it isn't Jiraiya—or occasionally a drunken Tsunade—that uses it. His teammates, who have been the original progenitors of the obnoxious appellation, have earned the privilege of only slightly annoying him at this point whenever they catcall the sobriquet facetiously. Any outsider, however, should never have the audacity to presume to call him that.

The woman leans her shoulder blatantly against him, her short kunoichi skirt riding up her sleek crossed thighs. It causes Orochimaru to drift ever so subtly in the opposite direction, and subsequently bump into Tsunade who is sitting there at his other side, which in turn ends up with his female comrade pressing uncomfortably against the wall.

"Hey, Orochimaru..." Tsunade murmurs tersely. "Keep your girlfriend at bay, will ya? Five more minutes of this and I might as well skulk off through the wall."

"She's not my girlfriend." Orochimaru has never considered what would make an agreeable partner for him should he suddenly get interested in these matters, but binding himself to a female that would bear him stupid children is definitely out of the question. "And you might recall I was against this whole charade from the start."

Amanone squawks right over their hushed conversation, threading a manicured fan of fingers through her midnight blue locks, a touch similar to Orochimaru's own but nothing so refined, blinking up at him with her doe-like eyes.

 _How is this creature even a jounin?_

"Well..." Tsunade whispers agitatedly in his ear. "Girlfriend or not, she seems quite spellbound by you. She thinks you're very hush-hush, you know. Some girls like that sort of thing."

"I'm not interested in what girls like or dislike, Tsunade."

"...Want me to roughen her up a bit, woman to woman? Buddha knows that giant head of hers could use a good bashing."

Tsunade doesn't like it when girls take a closer interest in him, no more than Orochimaru himself. He can't find a reason to complain against this particular trait in her character, inexplicable as it is, as it's spared him many embarrassing situations in the past when she has dealt with obsessive, clingy girls for him.

She's probably even more eager to take full advantage of the occasion this time, considering the fact that she and Amanone faced off during the chunin exam finals, with Tsunade winning the match along with the promotion by narrow margins. Orochimaru recalls some unpleasantries being exchanged, vain words and empty threats that long since mean nothing to anyone save for the two women. Girls have a ridiculously long memory, Orochimaru has come to understand.

"Princess, I don't need assistance fending off a simple—"

"Orochi senpai, pay attention to me!"

The dark-haired woman clutches his upper arm like she is holding on for dear life, trying to force-feed him a spoonful of her miso soup. Maybe he'll take it back.

"He's not interested you cronk," Tsunade barks over him, breathing heavily. Her nostrils flare with the chagrin she's been grinding down for the past half an hour or so as she slams her fist against the wooden table so that it quakes vigorously. Drinks spill all over it to the accompaniment of muffled ululations from the unfortunate few who've had their cups resting on the plot. "So back off before I bung you up."

Amanone stares daggers with her glistening obsidian eyes. Tsunade's molten ambers match her acrimony and then some. Orochimaru sighs, feeling helpless as he gets caught in the crossfire of their tastelessly candid squabble. Not that it matters. They are both so drunk they probably won't even remember to properly hate each other in the morning.

They are well into the evening and into their cups, Orochimaru mostly an observant with his humble first glassful left almost untouched, when Sarutobi-sensei raises a drunken toast. The blood is rushing through his ears and a proud glimmer swims in his glassy eye as he speaks, keeping a hand to the table to steady his lurching (Sakumo dared him to out drink Tsunade, so he did).

"To Sakumo Hatake and my three students here, even though one is presently absent from our merry table. Let us take joy in the safe return of some of our brightest talents. Our hopes and dreams for the future may lie with all of our extraordinary youth, but know that our testament as teachers, defenders and pillars to this village is bound to you four in particular. May you lead this country down a better path than we have, and may the will of fire forever guide your hand as you do."

The enthusiastic drumming of fingers against the table plot fills the room, the entire saloon shaking from the force of their joined effort to disgrace the ninja name. "Here here!"

"Now tell us all!" someone calls out, and that is when Orochimaru knows the worst has come to be.

They are going to want _the details_. And they are no doubt going to want passionate narrators to describe them.

"Tell us of your grand exploits!"

"We want to hear every juicy detail!"

"Yeah, don't leave us hanging!"

Orochimaru sighs. He has feared something like this would come to fruition. His tired yellow eyes meet Sakumo's resigned black ones across the table. The silver-haired man gives him a knowing smile, shrugs with a sort of philosophical acquiescence Orochimaru just can't force himself to marshal.

"Well…" Sakumo volunteers valiantly, even though it's clear to Orochimaru that the man enjoys it no more than he will, come his turn to speak. "I guess the Hidden Sand is as good a place to start as any." His effort is welcomed by claps and coos of approval. "Shall I begin then?"

Sakumo proceeds to tell a tale of blood and sand and many dead buried in the fell folds of the desert's chromic skirts. Orochimaru can appreciate how the man does not attempt to portray himself the gallant hero—something most of their coevals claim to be but none of them truly are—does not turn the raw adagio of war into a carol, and generally reports events as they have occurred. The crowd is spared no gory detail, and by the time Hatake gets to the part where circumstances have apparently forced him to slay man and wife in cold blood and leave them with no other grave but the embrace of their broken puppets, the mood around the table has considerably dampened.

"Chiyo of the Sand won't forgive," Sarutobi-sensei muses grimly, the words coming out of his mouth slightly slurred but no less authoritative. "The death of her only son… not only she, the entire village won't take well to it."

"My sins will haunt me forever," Sakumo says humbly. "But they need not haunt our village as well. My actions are my own responsibility. If it comes to it, I shall face the consequences of what I have done by myself."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Tsunade utters sympathetically. "You've done what you had to do. The Hidden Sand would have done the exact same thing to us if their ninja were in your stead. We all do as we must in this war."

"Indeed," Sarutobi-sensei adds. "My students are no different. I'm sure they've both had to perform things they will not be proud to tell of to their descendants one day. But I am nonetheless honored to call them my former disciples." He lifts up his cup at Tsunade and Orochimaru, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Where leaves dance, fire burns. And I can easily tell the fire burns strongly within you. Even though it will be marked as a failure in the mission records, I want you two to know that surviving an encounter with Hanzo of the Salamander will be looked upon as anything but."

Everyone raves in congratulations. Orochimaru senses an undefined feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, but ultimately decides to think nothing of it. He counts the tiles that mock him with their sameness from the ceiling, utterly bored but at least thankful most of the jarring noises have died down.

"What about you two, Tsuna, Orochimaru?" someone cries out nastily amidst the many hushed conversations. "Got anything to tell us?"

"Yeah, don't think you're off the hook!"

"Don't be shy now, tell us all about Hanzo!"

"Was he tall?"

"Was he scary?"

"Did he have cat's teeth and three eyes?"

"A wart at least?"

"Tell tell tell!"

Orochimaru gives Tsunade a nudge under the table, but makes it look to the rest of them like he has been sitting uncomfortably.

Tsunade grunts, cupping her flushed cheeks with her hands. "I'm expecting sake money for a month!" she warns him grouchily.

"A week."

"Three weeks."

"A fortnight and that's the end of it."

She considers the bargain for a moment. "Hmph!" She stretches and pops her fingers. "Alright people, listen up!"

Orochimaru sets back into his seat, resting his head against the warm wall, cold thoughts swarming his mind. He registers the tale of their mission briefly as Tsunade recreates it for the rest of the group to relive, his mind already slipping towards the activities he has planned out for later tonight. By the time she is done talking, Orochimaru has dissected a hundred freshly obtained corpses in his head.

"Hey Orochimaru!" Tsunade's voice pulls him from his dark fantasies. "You with us?"

"...Huh?"

"Sakumo here asked you a question."

"Hm?"

"I was wondering how you managed to learn the Rashomon technique," Hatake repeats patiently, oblivious to the trouble his inquiry spells. "It's quite an impressive feat. I've been trying to get the formula for ages myself, but I suppose my teacher just hasn't been as benevolent as the Hokage here."

Orochimaru bites back a caustic comment. He has admittedly not paid the closest of attentions to Tsunade's depiction of their battle with Hanzo, but then again he hasn't anticipated her to get into _that_ much detail. Sarutobi-sensei's disapproving gaze pins him like a pair of rusty, reprehensible nails. _My, my._ Orochimaru smirks inwardly, taking a twisted sort of pleasure in his teacher's uptight expression. _Things might actually start to get interesting here soon._

They have discussed the jutsu in the past, him and his teacher, but Sarutobi-sensei has been adamant about abiding the same rules that apply to everyone else. Orochimaru considers his options. There is no direct way to prove the scroll has been… borrowed. He has taken the utmost care in replacing it with a carefully crafted forgery for the duration of his training, and when he was finished he made sure to slip the original right back where he'd taken it from.

Still, both Orochimaru and his teacher are in the know of the fact that he is capable of perfectly erasing his trails. It's not too difficult to imagine the suspicions that are probably swamping the Hokage's mind as they speak.

Orochimaru takes his time answering. This is his first major slip so far, he needs to tread cautiously. He does a fine job of ignoring his old teacher and the accusation, pain and disappointment hidden in his eyes. He'll deal with it later.

"I taught myself," he answers, carefully, his words in and of themselves a relatively truthful statement.

"Yes," Sarutobi-sensei chimes in with pursed lips. Even now, the man cradles too big an affection for his snake pupil, it seems, to condemn him openly for his actions of breaking the very law that the Hokage stands to embody. "He must have taught himself."

No one save Orochimaru appears to catch the edge the Hokage's voice has to it.

As chatter resumes and people go back to drowning their worries and their tired reflections in the bittersweet nectar of their cups, Orochimaru shares a look with his teacher. A look that, more or less, says it all.

 _This isn't close to being over._

* * *

 **notes:**  
Welcome aboard, **UrbanDriver, Lunar Loon.** Always thrilling to greet new readers who appreciate my work. Also, sorry for the long wait everyone, but school finals are just round the corner and I'm going bananas over here stressing over it all. Anyway, I hope to take less with next week's update, seeing as it's going to be a very very special chapter that I've been eager to write for a while now. [SPOILER ALERT, because I'm the only author who'll slightly spoil their own story in a fit of excitement] It's going to be a real baddie, you guys. You can expect some twisted!Oro action, and I know that's been long overdue. So you might, like, wanna stay tuned for that. Just saying.


	11. Ah, the Discoveries

**note:**  
Feel free to play _I don't care I love it_ in the background as you proceed to delve into this chapter. I swear it's going to enhance your read.

* * *

 **X.  
Ah, the Discoveries**

The corridor to Sarutobi-sensei's office winds ahead of her in a narrow curve. Tsunade has always found it unnecessarily meandering and a bit too constricted for her taste. After all this time it's still the only way into the Hokage's quarters, aside from the double-hung window at his office, but going in that way is something only Jiraiya has the nerve to do. _That giant moron..._ Tsunade mutters her displeasure under her breath. She feels like smashing in the face of the person who thought it would be a good idea to give people goddamn claustrophobia every time they happen to have business with the Hokage.

She has long since lost count of the number of times she's passed through the hallway, report file clutched in her hand. The stacks are only getting thicker, Tsunade can't help but note, and it scares her, how the words have grown clinical, close-textured and impersonal, statistics, almost. The death that surrounds their missions has turned into something standard, the sort of run-of-the-mill occurrence no one bats an eye at anymore.

Even Tsunade can feel herself getting accustomed to it. The more death she sees, the easier it is to turn a blind eye to it. During their first few war-related missions, she refused to write reports altogether. Every death got to her, stayed in her head and she took the uneasiness home to Nawaki. Then Nawaki died, and his death overclouded all the rest. For a while after he got killed Tsunade insisted on keeping record of the death of every deceased comrade. It felt like marking down Nawaki's name all over again, and while it wracked her heart to do it—she vaguely recalls those sleepless nights when she had only sake and half-dead candles to keep her company, hand trembling and ink oftentimes smudged by her searing tears—it also kept her close to the feeling of him, the last she got to make away with, back when she held what was left of his chilled corpse and inhaled the smell of his flesh for the last time before they snatched that away from her, too.

It was too brief. His life, his death, their goodbye. Somehow, it's always too brief when she replays it in her head. She didn't get to live long enough in those moments.

Now it's mostly just tabulating words. War cheapens everything and Tsunade hates it. She knows Jiraiya hates it, too. It beats her what Orochimaru has to say on the matter. She suspects she'd just get another one of his damn unreadable chortles if she asked him his opinion.

 _Get it together_ , she thinks, clenching and releasing her slightly shaking fists as she approaches the door to Sarutobi-sensei's working office, where she gets a side view of Orochimaru's slender profile leaning against the wall, waiting for her. Her vision blurs a little, and she narrowly prevents a lurch. That damn hangover is really getting to her. She barely even had the strength to sit down and form coherent words for the stupid report card, the one she is bringing along for submission. _As if the whole damn village doesn't already know every dratted detail._

Tsunade loves her homeland dearly, but honestly, sometimes she would like nothing more than to strangle the life out of each and every prying face. They are getting way too much attention, she and her team, even for her standards.

Tsunade rubs her temples, channeling soothing chakra to her careworn mind. Crap, the damnable headache just won't go.

 _Get it together, get it together. You're in your prime, and your village needs you. Life is ahead of you and the dead are behind you._

Nawaki's death will not have been for nothing. For the first time in Buddha knows how long she has a clear vision of what she needs to do. She is a healer and will stay true to her credo—she is going to use her pain to lessen that of other people. She can't let her grief overrun her again and get in the way of that.

Tsunade announces her arrival when she nears Orochimaru's perfectly motionless form. He is as always—pale and elegant and just a bit cruel when he lifts up his head to somehow greet and dissect her all at once with his knowing, snake-slit pupils. Tsunade presses her back to the wall next to him, struggling to sort out the typical conflicting emotions her dark-haired teammate awakens in her, torn between trust and suspicion. He means the world to her, of course, he and Jiraiya both do. It's just that he can feel... cold, sometimes. To the point where she nearly begins to wonder whether he cares for her and their white-haired teammate at all. But then he usually goes ahead and saves their lives in battle or buys her lotto tickets or something equally adorable, and she racks her head with guilt for ever thinking there might be something dark and horrible to him.

The silly crush she had on him when they were children does not help much. _That damn warring man._ Tsunade sighs inwardly, resigning to her utter inability to read him. _His middle name is definitely 'Contradiction'._

"Sarutobi-sensei in there?" she mumbles when a few minutes of nothingness pass between them.

"He is entertaining a foreign visitor, I think." Tsunade perks up her ears. _Again?_ You'd think war would put a hinge in the village's diplomatic affairs but on all accounts it has been just the opposite. Hanzo's words briefly echo in her head, uninvited. _...the war the Leaf started..._

Tsunade bites her thumbnail. It's more or less undeniable at this point that some sneaky things have been happening in the village since the beginning of the war. And Sarutobi-sensei will share none of it with them. Not that Tsunade doesn't understand or respect his reasons. It's just that her curiosity gets the better of her, on occasion. Too bad the door guarding his office is sound-proof, or else they'd be eavesdropping the hell out of this.

"They might be a while," Orochimaru adds. "We could use the time to go over the final details of our reports and combine our parts."

Taking a closer inspection at his face, Tsunade is surprised to see it somewhat worn down. It's the small, incidental minor points that usually make no impression on most people that give away the remote imperfection that slithers underneath his cold mask. Tsunade isn't most people. She has the trained eye of a medic, and these things are as obvious to her as internal bleeding or the symptoms of variola. His left eye is slightly bloodshot, his forehead glistens with residual sweat, and the purple markings surrounding his serpentine eyes are a shade darker than their usual amethyst hue. _He hasn't slept through the night._

"Orochimaru! You look..." _...less immaculate than usual._

Her dark-haired teammate spares her the trouble of saying it out loud. "I had a late night," he explains in his deep voice, vague and mysterious as ever.

"I thought you didn't have that much to drink," Tsunade remarks. "What kept you up all night anyway? It's not like you to get carried away on a working night." _Or any night._

Orochimaru's thin white lips form a delicate smile. Every move of his seems carefully calculated, not exactly going through the motions but certainly giving away no more than the required minimum information.

"Oh I wouldn't worry, Princess. It was all well worth it."

Despite his seeming lassitude, Tsunade can't help but notice he appears to be in an uncharacteristically brisk mood.

She knows it's no use pressing him for further details. The man can be tight-lipped as a mute once he makes up his mind to keep her and Jiraiya out of a certain private matter. Besides, sometimes she gets this low-pitched feeling... Maybe they are better off not knowing all about the things Orochimaru does in his spare time.

* * *

 _The previous night_

The unfortunate social affair was finally grinding to a halt as people stumbled drunkenly out of the inn, spluttering their thanks to the Hokage (who ended up stuck with the bill after all). Others were much too intoxicated to move from the table, their homes too remote a comfort to make it worth the effort. So they drooped along the benches like sacks of spoilt wheat, moaning their impending headaches to anyone who might listen. Never in his lifetime did Orochimaru think he'd be relieved to hear the soft snoring of his drunken colleagues.

Oddly enough, Tsunade was one of the less affected attendees, and managed to stagger down the alleyway to her house, muttering about the village, the war, the terrible era, Amanone's breakable nose and Jiraiya's awful timing.

"Remember tomorrow is report day, Princess," Orochimaru reminded her before she disappeared round the corner.

She gave out an all too unconvincing grunt that left him entirely uncertain about the fate of their shared paper.

Orochimaru pivoted on his heels and made to take his leave too, but then he felt the hover of a presence he had been expecting all evening, ever since Hatake's hapless comment brought Orochimaru's off-record doings to light.

"Going somewhere, student?" the Hokage's patronizing voice stopped him in his tracks. "The night is still young."

Orochimaru nearly grimaced. He had expected edification, penalty, disenchantment from the idealized image his teacher had built for his beloved student; a token thunderbolt. But no. Concern is what he got, of all things. _Of course._ How typical.

"Is something the matter, sensei?" Orochimaru asked with mock innocence. "I need to be on my way."

"Orochimaru."

There was no room for argument in the Hokage's voice. Orochimaru threw his head back to stare the man in the eye intently. There always seemed to be something in Orochimaru's serpentine eyes that mellowed the man and alleviated whatever ire he might feel towards his student. It did not fail to work before, and it did not fail him this time either. His teacher's expression softened.

"What am I going to do with you, lad?"

Orochimaru rewarded his teacher with a macabre chuckle. "You hardly need to do a thing, sensei. Not to bring a tear to your eye, but we are way past the old teacher-student days, now, are we not?"

The Hokage irritated him immensely when he simply smiled, brushing off Orochimaru's best effort to vex him as if he'd witnessed this sort of hubris a hundred times in the past. "I suppose that may be so. In that case, I should be shackling you instead of berating you. Stealing the First Hokage's scrolls is a serious criminal offence."

Orochimaru blinked without a trace of guilt and cocked his chin in amusement, his voice an exquisite parody of righteousness. "Stealing? Oh dear. Whoever's doing that may be they ought to be in for some earnest trouble."

The Hokage sighed, the fatigue from his daily duties as well as his many cups apparent in the way his face sagged and he sought the wall's proximity for eventual support. "What did you tell Jiraiya and Tsunade, at least? You lied, I'm assuming? Tsunade would not be telling the story so freely if she thought she was harming you. And I don't suppose you would be willing to let them in on anything you do. Any felony you might consider committing."

 _You'd like it to be otherwise, would you not, sensei? If only because we both know they'd run with the information straight to you._

They would probably throw themselves on the floor immediately after and beg for a reduction of his punishment, the honorable caring fools. But what good would it do? What good had pleading done for anyone, ever?

Orochimaru shrugged. "My deeds are my own," he said simply. "I see no point in getting my dearest friends involved in things that do not concern them." He narrowed his eyes to slits as suspicion crept up in him. "Besides, you wouldn't go questioning Tsunade about private conversations I might have had with her, isn't that right, sensei? I seem to recall such things were beneath you, once."

A deep frown broke up the Hokage's forehead into afflicted sections. "From what I remember some things were beneath you too, once."

Orochimaru leered at his teacher, clicking his tongue. He was growing tired of this pointless chitchat. "Am I to spend the night in the privacy of my own home, sensei, or in a prison cell on behalf of mere guesswork? Which one will it be?"

The Hokage gave him a long, heavily underscored look. "It bothers me that you would go over my head and take the scroll," he said finally. "But what bothers me far more is that you would clearly do so without any kind of remorse. Have you no conscience, boy?"

Orochimaru turned around to face his former tutor fully; pupils narrowed to clefts, black hair dangling in the wind like sin incarnate. "Have you no eyes, sensei?"

No words could quite fit into the description of the grieved expression that overtook his teacher's face, but it left Orochimaru thoroughly satisfied.

"Go home, Orochimaru. This has been your first and final warning. The next time I catch you red-handed, you shall be in for the consequences."

Orochimaru suppressed a smirk. Tonight was proving to be quite fruitful after all. The moon was yet to drown in the blackness of late night, and there he was, already making progress. _And I have only just begun…_

Orochimaru's lips stretched in a waspish smile. "It's good to be _home_ , sensei."

* * *

A few minutes later, Orochimaru was staring at the red-necked head of the Hidden Leaf prison segregation unit, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

"What am I to make of this?"

"The deal's off, lad," the man had the gall to repeat to his face. "Security's gone too tight. We can't sneak out anyone anymore."

"It cannot be off," Orochimaru said flatly. He needed this deal. His work needed this deal.

"Listen, you're a well-respected chap and we were all chuffed to have your favor these past couple of years. Now, I don't know what you were doing with those people we handed you over, and it sure as hell ain't none of my business. I know better than to stick my nose into other folks' matters, y'know? Especially if they're scary folk like you. Anyway, what I'm sayin' is, it was a good snip. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. I ain't risking my job for this. We just can't supply you with the odd inmate anymore."

Orochimaru narrowed his hazel eyes, resisting the urge to kill this man and leave his corpse hanging from the ceiling, just to remind the rest of the guards who it was they were dealing with. "I can assure you no word will get out about any of this. I will make sure of it personally."

The man scratched his greasy back with his officer club, the white-and-red Uchiha sigil scrunched disgracefully, only magnifying Orochimaru's displeasure. Such brilliant eyes, wasted on such an unimpressive individual.

"I told you it ain't happening, kid. Just give it up."

Orochimaru flared his nostrils at the man's particular choice of addressing.

"I'd take better care selecting my words when hailing someone who is far and away my superior. Be warned that I am not my teacher, and hardly believe in second chances. So here is a word of friendly _warning_ —I am the last person you wish to antagonize." His serpentine eyes widened dangerously before the man got a chance to vocalize his protest, voice sunk to a grave whisper, his whole being exuding darkness and lethality. "They wouldn't even find what's left of you. Keep that in mind while reflecting on how you will choose to speak to me from now on."

The man gulped fearfully, finally grasping the gravity of the situation. "I—yes, of course, my lord."

Orochimaru stuck out his forked tongue, causing the man to shrink back in dread, thoroughly enjoying the power he had over these lesser creatures. "So? Will I be getting my due merchandise?"

"Why yes, we'll do our best to accommodate you, my lor—"

"Inspection!" someone cried out from around the corner, much to Orochimaru's annoyance. He whipped up his head at the source of the uproar, narrowing his eyes, sheer murder flickering in them. "Inspection!" His sensitive tongue and ears picked up on the scent and sound of many quickened footsteps approaching the scene rapidly. He gave out a wrathful hiss. How dare they interrupt his session with the guard.

Orochimaru pursed his thin lips.

He could not be seen here. Not so soon after his argument with Sarutobi-sensei, the senile oldster. He needed to keep his slate clean for now, at least as far as the village authorities were concerned. The Hokage might exhibit decline in his mental faculties, but he was still in a position to complicate things for Orochimaru unnecessarily.

The Uchiha guard looked at him saucer-eyed, visibly scared for his life. "I told you security was tight! It—it ain't my fault—"

Orochimaru had already lifted up two fingers in front of his face. "Spare me your bleat. I will be back shortly to claim what is mine, and I expect to be welcomed far more properly. You would do well to take the time to reconsider your priorities, and your attitude... or else I might just get offended."

With that, he disappeared in a puff of angry smoke.

 _Just my luck…_

* * *

Orochimaru walked towards his laboratory, empty-handed, resenting the feeling of discontentment that had settled in his gut. After so many weeks away fighting the Leaf's most challenging battles, he had _deserved_ a proper homecoming to his experiments, and a fresh body to memorialize it, not some months-old leftovers from his previous studies. But alas. Fortune did not favor Orochimaru tonight.

"Orochimaru senpai!" And there came yet another exhibit of that. Orochimaru hastened his step without turning, nearly running from the source of the obnoxious voice. "Orochimaru senpai, wait up!"

The silly creature was supposed to be too drunk for the speeds it demonstrated.

What games was fate playing with him? Orochimaru had seen her drink. He'd seen her wobble.

Yet there she was, not giving any indication of being under the influence of alcohol at all, in fact without so much as a trace of sake in her lingering syrupy smell. _She must have sent a clone to attend the brunch_ , Orochimaru realized. He quirked an eyebrow. _A_ _rather convincing clone._ He had been seated next to her all evening and he had not felt it. Perhaps she _was_ a jounin for a reason.

Perhaps he should have done the same.

Orochimaru sighed, removing the woman's clingy arms from around his torso before they even fully wrapped themselves and the suffocating embrace clicked into place. "Ah, lord Orochimaru. You must have been pretty deep in thought. I called after you at least a couple of times there."

"What is it, Amanone?"

Orochimaru moved to put some distance between himself and the pesky woman, subconsciously shrinking back into his orchid civilian yukata, a part of him hoping that the layer of clothing would somehow protect him from the girl's physically inappropriate assault.

Amanone smacked her painted lips and blinked up at him, blind to the disgust that read in his actions. "Well… You left so quickly back there, I didn't get to say goodbye."

Orochimaru started at her awkwardly. "So goodbye."

He backpedaled slowly when the woman did not show any outer signs of being about to head off. "Wait a minute, Orochimaru senpai!"

Orochimaru gnashed his teeth. He really was in no mood for this. "Hm?"

Amanone sashayed closer again, sticking out her ample chest like sorry merchandise. "Won't you wish me luck?"

Orochimaru sighed. "What could you possibly need my well-wishes for, Amanone?"

"For my mission, of course! Didn't you hear me when I was telling people all about it at dinner?" _I wouldn't have heard you if you were telling of a pending apocalypse._ "Lord Hokage has assigned me my first S-rank mission! I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

Orochimaru cocked an eyebrow, slightly puzzled by his teacher's choice of executant. "You're going all by yourself?"

Amanone clearly mistook his skepticism for showcase of interest. "I am," she tweeted proudly. "It's top-secret, very hush-hush and all that, so I can't tell you any of the details." Orochimaru kept silent, watched the woman blush at practically nothing. "…Alright, I'll tell you, but just because you're so cute when you give me that look!"

Orochimaru honestly had no idea what look she was referring to. The woman moved in on him without warning and placed a finger over his lips before he could speak. "But you have to promise to keep your handsome lips buttoned. It'll be our… little… secret." Every word was punctuated by the imminent approach of her pink lips, glistening in the light of the street lamps like the epitome of doom.

Orochimaru gulped, deciding it was time to put his skill to use. With his typical deftness, he disengaged from the woman's grasp sleekly and twirled in a crescent around her, gracefully so that it seemed as inoffensive as the nature of the movement allowed.

"A ninja should never reveal classified information, not even to his comrades," he quoted the jounin handbook evenly.

Amanone brushed off his admonition with a wave of her manicured hand. "But you're the village prodigy! You're the most powerful jounin in the Land of Fire. No one can beat you, right, senpai? So I have no reason to worry about information leaking out."

Orochimaru stuffed his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side, giving the woman an assessing look before his lips curved slightly upward. "And what if I was a traitor?"

He said it casually, as if he was commenting on the weather. But the dark amusement in his eyes seemed to give her pause. "O-of course you're no traitor, senpai! Don't even joke about that."

Orochimaru laughed out loud at her indignation. _Fools, to the last one._ An idea began shaping up in his head, filling the pool of his mind with its dark droplets, slowly but exquisitely. A part of him advised him against it, struggled against the decision, even… But that was folly.

He was getting the chance of a lifetime here. Orochimaru considered his options carefully.

Civilian prisoners were one thing. Fellow ninja were a different matter altogether. They wouldn't simply imprison him for engaging in such deeds. They'd execute him. Risking exposure like this… It could be dangerous. But this, what he was trying to achieve… it was well worth the risks.

Ultimately, it was the prospect of getting to perform his research on a creature with a fully developed chakra system that spurred on the crooked workings of his mind. He had done it in the past, true, but with his war victims, and in the terrible conditions of his provisionary laboratories located sporadically into enemy territory. He'd had to make do with what he had on his hands, so the premises were usually closer to ground-dug holes than actual, equipped facilities.

This could be different.

Orochimaru let himself entertain the notion. This woman… no one would question her demise. For all anyone would know she would have died fulfilling her ninja duty. After all, S-rank missions claimed the lives of so many… And she was inexperienced, poor Amanone, it was only natural she'd slip up on her very first such task. It would have been the Hokage's fault, really, for overestimating the capability of his subjects. Aside from this, no one would seek liability within the village itself.

Orochimaru laughed harder, his mind slowly turning to the idea, embracing it and its undesigned brilliance. _The very best of things are always unplanned…_

"And there I was thinking you liked games, Amanone…" The red roses blooming on the woman's cheeks only intensified in hue. "You said you were leaving first thing in the morning, yes? Already checked your name on the exiting list like a dutiful girl?"

She nodded her head. Orochimaru's smile widened. Fate was practically shoving this chance in his hands.

"Hm. And you're too nervous to sleep, I suppose?"

She inclined her head again, eyes round and hopeful.

Orochimaru's lips pulled to reveal his fine sharp teeth. "Do you fancy a little game before dawn, my dear?"

Amanone nearly tripped over herself to rush to his side. Orochimaru chuckled at her eagerness. Perhaps fortune favored him after all.

* * *

 _7 years ago_

The first time Orochimaru performed human experimentation, he was a fortnight short of turning thirteen. Even back then, in those early days when the world had not yet bared its ugliest side to the Sannin, Orochimaru could make sense of the blood offerings his half-formed ambition required. _Everything has a price._ Life and death above all. These two were the most valuable currency in the world, yet mankind seemed to trade with them freely and without much contrition.

Orochimaru saw no reason not to do the same.

The entire episode happened quite naturally, with no one forcing his hand into it. It all felt right from the very beginning. He didn't even do it on purpose, though in hindsight, too many things happened coincidentally to simply dub it a simple mischance.

It was team Hiruzen's first mission outside the Land of Fire and Sarutobi-sensei had sent his right hand at the time, Danzo Shimura, to guide the recently promoted chunin on their journey. Orochimaru's teammates took an almost immediate disliking to the man. Especially Tsunade. She could not stop going on about how he'd 'kept sucking up to her grandfathers' when they were in charge of the village just so he could get his hands on her family's legacy, how he'd wanted to replace Sarutobi-sensei from the political map, how the crisscrossed scar on his chin was as dreadful as the rest of him. Orochimaru himself thought nothing of the man. He was impersonal, streamlined, just a regular jounin fulfilling his duty. Missions would be much easier if more people were like this.

They had to escort a significant plutocrat from the feudal lord's very encirclement across the country and into the Land of Wind, and chaperon his meetings with the local overlords, making sure the man was always under strict surveillance. They ran into trouble more than once, of course, but then again Sarutobi-sensei would not assign them a mission that belittled or derogated their skill. Danzo mostly kept out of the fighting, supervising their actions as they dispelled the various traps and ambushers the party encountered during their travel. And dare Orochimaru say they did an impeccable job of handling the task. In fact, they did it so well that the kingpin hardly even noticed there was any fighting taking place just outside of his portable litter.

There was one particular group of raiders that gave them a hard time. They managed to dispose of most of them without Danzo's interference, but the leader made getaway into the nearby forest with a handful of his associates. Jiraiya and Tsunade did not mind letting them wriggle out at first, but Danzo advised them otherwise.

"Letting these men live will only lead to trouble down the road. They might return with more troops. They might report your whereabouts to someone else. Best end it now, cleanly."

Seeing as neither of his teammates seemed overly happy to volunteer for the task at hand, it was up to Orochimaru to deal with the matter. He bird-dogged the small party ably, lied in waiting for an opportunity to strike out from the shadows just like the chunin textbook said would be best to proceed in such situations. He used his wind release against the lightning style user, created a mud clone to serve as decoy for the fire ball breather—the most dangerous one for Orochimaru, considering his wind jutsu was at a disadvantage against him—while his yet frail but no less poisonous snakelings bit stealthily at his ankles; he even tackled a man twice his size and, relying on his speed, tricked him into charging against the trunk of a tree head-first.

Everything was going well. Routinely, almost. And then. Then the leader somehow took him by surprise—Orochimaru didn't know to this day if it was luck or skill or both—pulled him by the hair—ah, the _impudence_ —pinned him to the ground, shoved a glaive up to his chin. For a moment Orochimaru saw the faces of the afterlife; his parents that awaited him, the devils that hoarded their souls.

But the man was stupid. Strong, but stupid. He didn't kill Orochimaru right away (too foolish, much too foolish). Instead he went on to mock him, tell him all about his earthly motivations. Orochimaru vaguely even recalled what his sorry speech was about, but money was at the center of it all. How miserable a goal.

It was his first time spitting out the Kusanagi. He had already sealed the precious artifact inside his body after coming across it on one of their missions so that they wouldn't confiscate it upon his return to the village. But he was yet to figure out a way to _unseal_ it. The sword found the answer for him. It came to him in his time of need; set sail from his spitefully curled mouth, a physical manifestation of his hatred for this mindless creature that towered above him, toying with his life as if he had a right to.

It didn't hit its mark, the blade, merely grazed the surface of the outlaw's coarse cheek, but it was enough of a distraction for Orochimaru to reach up— _the purse, go for the purse_ —causing the muckworm to twist his body so, protective of his property. Little did he know, it was the other pocket he should have taken better care of. Orochimaru snatched his ninja tools with the deft fingers of a Hidden Rain thief, grip closing around the first weapon that came in his way—a tegaki climbing hook, why would anyone commanding over chakra even _have_ a thing like that?—and plunged it deep into the man's lower back. The man didn't die, but dropped to the ground like a stone. Orochimaru stood over him, their positions ironically reversed, breathing heavily with the accumulated anger. How dare this... _misunderstanding_ lay a finger on him. Him. This nonentity. A petty mugger.

He broke his arms. Then he broke his legs. Then he kicked him in the stomach until the man was reduced to a trembling heap of crushed limbs pooling at his feet.

Danzo discovered him like this, hammering his soles into the man in silence, tugging at his own kunai pouch, swinging. For a moment there Orochimaru didn't know what to do. _Please don't tell sensei._ But that would just sound pathetic.

The jounin surprised him when he simply chuckled, not a trace of amusement or mockery or anything at all in the void sound. "I suppose it's quite ironical, for one of Saru's students of all people to turn out this way. Go on then," he said, as if he knew what was going through Orochimaru's mind before the idea even took seed. "Do as you will."

And with that, the man took off, leaving Orochimaru frozen with his black hair dangling in front of his wide-eyed face and his kunai still lifted up above his head.

He did not stay frozen for long.

He poked the man with the pointy end of the tool, slowly, just to gauge the reaction; high-pitched squalling, almost like a girl's. He tore a stripe of his sleeve and put it through the man's mouth, silencing him. Another poke, this time a little deeper. The man squealed like a pig, the toes of his feet curling up as the flesh broke and popped like a fester and wept with slick red tears.

Orochimaru observed the scene with curiosity. It was all new to him. Up until now, he'd only killed like the handbook instructed—swiftly and with minimum patchwork.

Now here he was, making a mess of this man's death. Because he could. Because he felt like it. Because there was no one around who was strong enough to punish him.

Orochimaru drove the blade deeply into the man's everywhere, overrun by a strange sort of abstraction; curious. Always curious. Forever seeking something other. He did it again and again and again until it wasn't even about his anger anymore.

Orochimaru learned three things that day: first, it was a stupid man who would sooner let you touch his kunai holster than his purse; second, pressing the tip of a knife to the mid-section of a person's spine was as effective as plunging the whole of the weapon into his chest; third, he had picked up more biologically applicable facts from a writhing body in five minutes than he had for six months with his nose buried in advanced genetics, cytology, anatomy and whatever other ninja scrolls he had been able to get his hands on.

 _There are no shortcuts to power_ , Sarutobi-sensei always said. He was right. There were only sagacious and inexpedient approaches to it. Orochimaru chose to go the smart way that day, and he regretted none of it.

He had walked away from the scene with a newfound type of smile playing on his lips. One that would only grow more frequent in its appearance throughout the years to come. He told Jiraiya and Tsunade he had been washing his ninja tools in the nearby river (true, in and of itself), and it had been his first time partially lying to his teammates. Certainly not the last one.

It didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. And it was easy, them so trustful, much easier than explaining the truth behind his delay to them.

Orochimaru had gone to bed content that day.

He would definitely, certainly be doing this again.

* * *

"Orochimaru senpai, where are we going?" the latest addition to his collection chirped unsuspectingly, turned a bit timid all of a sudden.

"Patience, dear. We're almost there."

It was true. They were already outside the confines of the village, Orochimaru navigating their way through the steep forest on the north-west of the Hidden Leaf outskirts. Where his precious toys awaited.

He led her into the mouth of his lair, the twin snake statues wordlessly greeting their master back to his dark, primordial occupation. They passed through his underground tunnels, and into the most well-equipped experimental wing of the facility.

"Wow," Amanone exclaimed quietly as they passed by numerous extravagant obelisks and dimly lit serpentine carvings with candles dancing in their eyes. "Your house is very gothic."

Orochimaru chuckled. "Wait until you see the dining room."

Amanone clung to his side, squealing happily. "So we'll have dinner?"

Orochimaru couldn't keep the amusement from his eyes. "Something like that."

"You're such a gentleman, Orochi senpai... By the way, what's behind all those doors we've been skipping?"

 _Beakers. Test tubes. Gene mutations. Human remnants._ "Just my collectibles. Nothing to worry your pretty head over."

"You—you think I'm pretty?"

Orochimaru paused, then smirked, enjoying this little game of words that had somehow become a welcome necessity for tonight's ploy. "I think you're very _special_ indeed."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Amanone blushing and blushing and blushing, face so red it was dangerously nearing a ridiculous shade of orange.

Orochimaru held the door to his laboratory open for her, almost chivalrous as he kept smirking down at her. "Welcome, darling." _To your tomb._

She froze almost as quickly as she stepped over the doorstep, breath hitching in a quiet gasp.

A python was already coiling at Orochimaru's feet, ready to lash out. "You don't like the interior?"

The room was small and windowless, with grey stone walls and the heaviness of musty air engulfing the perimeter. It was laden with medical equipment, ranging from scalpels to test-tubes. One of the room's massive walls was covered in ceiling length shelves stacked full of jarred experiments, books, scrolls, crates, and tools, all crawling up the tiers like a wave of colorful insects. On the racks, glass pots full of lucent green liquid and floating body bits jockeyed for position with empty synergies and basins with various seals keeping their precarious content from spilling. But the lab's most unique feature was the large blood extracting machine in the centre of the room, which Orochimaru often used to transfuse powerful men's lifeblood into himself or vice versa.

Amanone surprised him when she attacked first.

Orochimaru dodged the whisper of her kunai, twisted sideways, careful not to break any of his precious possessions. His snake attempted to restrain her but Amanone stepped over it and stomped her foot down, hands forming a succession of seals, resulting in the reptile dissolving in a hot fizzling cloud.

 _Fire release_. Orochimaru couldn't have her wreaking havoc among his trophies. He used a mud clone to imprison her ankles, then lunged at her, hissing.

He tackled her, fell to the ground, tumbled alongside her as she tried to kick him rigid. He felt her hands locking over his throat, which would have been a wise move against anyone else. But Orochimaru was a snake. Strangling the life out of his enemies was _his_ trademark kill. He simply protruded his neck, twisting back around to bite the woman's face off. She kneed him between the legs, then, and it bloody _hurt,_ and Orochimaru didn't want her there, had never wanted her there.

Orochimaru rolled to the side sleekly, hissing again, retracted to the opposite corner and pushed himself up to his knees, breathing heavily and regarding the struggling creature with a savage sort of amusement.

He had underestimated her. The woman could definitely put up a good fight. But it was over now.

His amusement slowly morphed into sinister chuckles as her best effort to get up resulted in her falling right back down on the ground, her moves losing their coordination. "You should rejoice, dear. We did get to share a rolling about on the floor after all. Oh don't struggle now. The seals I've placed on you are quite severe. I should expect you to be paralyzed anytime now..."

He wrapped his limbs around her shaking form just to be sure she wouldn't attempt something as silly as running, hands closing in on her body possessively along with his coiling snakes, the whole scene resembling a grotesque nest of vipers with a prey caught in the middle of it. At some point he sunk a syringe into the exposed side of her neck. He felt her slowly go limp in his boa-like clasp, the combined pressure of his skillful hands squeezing at her throat working together with the relaxant and intoxicant altogether too much for her system to handle.

He disentangled from the woman's quiescent body and started setting up the operating table. (Dinner indeed, just not a typical one.) Plastic covers for easier washing (there would be much to clean). Ah, the familiar, orderly feeling of surgical equipment arranged on a smaller plot next to the main table. Then the body. A little fumbling and then—chakra-straps licking the flesh, rendering an unpredictable lynx harmless. Moths rushing to their deaths as they stuck to the flickering fluorescent lamp, pleasant crackle as their tiny little bodies popped open. Orochimaru didn't feel anything for them. Perhaps they amused him, once. Killed by the scorching touch of their own little sun. Failed to uncover its secrets. Failed to master its deathly beauty. Failed to turn themselves into gods.

Orochimaru helped himself into the rolling chair next to the table, listening to the woman's calm and quiet intakes of breath, watching her chest rise and fall in its last few peaceful minutes. He waited patiently for the sedative to wear off. He would not rush this. He wanted her conscious to better monitor her reactions as he probed her flesh.

Orochimaru had long since learned that performing procedures on a drugged body greatly dulled the knowledge derived from it. Every scream was encrypted information. Every moan, every ragged breath. That's how he'd learned of some unsuspected afflictive areas in the human body, and it served him well in and outside of combat.

Amanone started wailing almost as soon as she opened her tired eyes.

" _Help_ , someone help me! He's crazy, someone, _please!_ "

Orochimaru rolled his eyes. As if he would be so reckless as to situate his covert laboratory where anyone could get to hear the concomitant sounds of his research.

He shook his head at her, tsking. "Do you really believe I would be as foolish as to overlook you screamers while arranging this entire enterprise? How low you must think of me. No one can hear you, dear. Best accept your fate quietly and spare us both the trouble of me skipping to the other room to fetch my ear plugs."

The woman kept shrieking like a banshee at birth, until Orochimaru waved the scalpel menacingly down at her. At least the flash of the blade seemed to momentarily shut her up.

"Trust me when I tell you that there will be plenty of time to scream later. Better not hoarsen your lovely voice from the start, hm?"

Amanone hiccupped, frenzied eyes jumping from one research tool to the other. "No, Orochimaru senpai, you're not like this. You—you're strong and talented and handsome. Why would—why you would need to do these… these… atrocities…"

"Because, there is a thing called power, and I am going to achieve it. And that might take more than a few decades to run its course. Obviously, I intend to be around to see it unravel. To do that, I must first make certain I don't die in the process of it. I am hoping you will be of assistance to me in that matter. The end of your flesh could mean the beginning of mine, as an immortal."

It was his first time donning his ambition in actual words. He didn't expect the woman's little mind to grasp any of what he'd just told her, but he said it anyway, if only to feel how the words would taste on his tongue. He was thrilled to know it all sounded so right to his own ears, poetic, almost. Orochimaru admitted he found the experience rather intoxicating. He decided he would do this more often. It was invigorating, felt like breathing life into his work.

"T-think of your teacher!" Amanone was writhing beneath him like a wounded hind and he hadn't even touched her yet. _Good, good. You will do well to have fear of me, little one._ He could not think of a more formidable predator in the village than himself. The sensation of topping the food chain was a heady one. "What would lord Hokage say if he found out… if he saw…? For the love of god, think of your friends!"

Orochimaru scoffed at that, slight disgust for the woman's sorry appeals settling in the pit of his stomach.

"You speak too much, dear, and far too loudly. I was thinking we'd start from the bottom of you, but now your tongue is the first thing I'll consider removing."

Fright and terror wrestled for dominance on the woman's round face. "Y-you said I was special!"

"But you _are_ very special to me, Amanone. You are the first Leaf ninja I get to do this on. Your death will help free me."

"Please, don't."

Orochimaru clasped a hand over her mouth, silencing her whimpers for good. He stared into her dark eyes closely—his own face reflected into the nebula of her corneal like the complex outline of a god—never straying from them even as his other hand descended to pick up the razor. He whirled it between his dexterous fingers, the polished metal catching the dim light of the flickering lamp and breaking it into a thousand colors, the most beautiful sort of rainbow Orochimaru had ever seen. The thought of extracting the same kind of scientific brilliance from the woman's body alone was enough to send pleasant ripples zinging through his shoulder blades. Turning something ordinary and mundane into a magnificent, ever-lasting discovery, watching as the mysteries of life and death undressed before him… it was the point of everything, really.

Orochimaru's triumphant touch traveled down the squirming thing's body, such a fine, young body, perceiving it shiver, the feeling of its quickened pulse amplifying his desire to quench the throbbing warmth tenfold.

"Shh, quiet now." His own voice sounded as if it was coming from somewhere far away. "Your life ends now, but rest assured that you shall not be quickly forgotten. And even when your face eventually slips from my memory, know that the feeling your opened flesh has granted me shall never fade."

Ah, the discoveries that were made that night. Wonderful, spontaneous, utterly beneficial. Chakra paths could indeed be obstructed by the experimental seals he'd been working on. It led to the bursting of all nearby capillaries though. Various bloodline cells could be inserted into certain body parts, but it led to severe DNA distortions, and lethality of said body parts (and the individual itself, if one was not careful).

And his latest project... Orochimaru felt like he'd made the most significant progress in this regard. The woman almost lived through the insertion of a portion of his own chakra into her body. Not regular blood, mind you. His chakra. The process could definitely use some fine-tuning as it appeared his chakra was behaving rather virulently among a foreign cell system, imploding blood vessels and eating away at anything supramolecular that got in its way. Still... This was the key to his rebirth, Orochimaru could tell. Just a bit more researching and he'd be able to transfer all of his life essence into another's body. Perhaps even permanently take over.

Orochimaru let out a sinister chuckle, just considering the opportunities, the sweet opportunities birthed by this...

The squirts of blood and the tipped out internal organs were an inconvenience, but as long as it held the promise of greater knowledge, there was precious little Orochimaru would not put up with. Surely his touch would grow more graceful in time.

Amanone nearly lasted till dawn. While Orochimaru was thrilled to take full advantage of the prolonged game, it did leave his mission report file vastly untouched. Perhaps even Tsunade would be less carless than that…

It didn't matter. He could always assign a clone with the mundane task of writing down the report, while this…

This was something worthwhile.

* * *

 **notes:**  
1\. For those of you who thought Orochimaru might be turning into a sweet guy... mmm yeah. In which even I was left speechless towards the end. Whew. Bless you, Kishimoto, for coming up with such a deliciously malevolent character for our reading (and writing) pleasure. Introducing Tsunade's PoV because she is the queen and deserves it. Also because I'm going to need it, plot-wise. But mostly the former.  
2\. And I call it now—just screw average chapter length. 3000, 8000 words... Content is what matters, right? That and not losing control over the narrative (which I hopefully won't be doing). I'll just do my thing for now, bugger word count. Hope that's ok with you guys. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and continues to review! Beautiful beautiful people. And to my wonderful and terrible **Gloo** —you know how I feel. :3


	12. Butterflies

**XI.  
Butterflies**

Orochimaru stands with his arms crossed, pale digit tapping on his bicep ever so imperceptibly. He might be sleep-deprived and his hands might still itch pleasantly from last night's endeavors, but he is no fool. Tsunade knows. The way she's been looking at him ever since they chanced on each other at the Hokage antechamber, her bloodshot eyes unfocused from her apparent headache but nonetheless all too perceptive for his taste, that and her comments about his appearance… She is definitely on to some of it.

He ought to have taken better care concealing the physical manifestation of his insufficient sleep.

Why she isn't putting him through the wringer for details is something he can't quite put a finger on. Perhaps she knows better than to poke her head into his private matters. On all accounts she should have learned to keep her distance by now. But that's just it—he has never known Tsunade to be the type of person to mind her own business. But she seems awfully preoccupied with her own demons, flinging through her report file in lackluster motions, to the point of distractedness to the world around her. The woman is exhibiting some very questionable behavior with him today indeed.

It's all the same to him. Orochimaru will make sure she keeps whatever conjectures she might have to herself. He certainly can't have her taking the matter to Sarutobi-sensei, because he honestly doesn't think he has it in him to play any more games of trust with the old man this week.

Oddly enough, she's not doing that either, as they stand in front of their old teacher's desk—stacks of paperwork piling over it like twin watchtowers overlooking lesser notes and slips of paper—ready to dump their share of contribution to the paper city growing on the Hokage's bureau at alarming rates.

The Hokage sighs heavily as he slumps back into his chair, storing away their report files in a drawer for later reviewing. How that man can find his way around the chaos going rampant in his office is beyond Orochimaru's comprehension.

"I understand," their former sensei says finally. "You two wish to take a break from military missions."

Orochimaru watches astutely as his female comrade blinks away the physical discomfort that the brightness of daylight is clearly causing her recovering mind and steps forward, clearing her throat. He leans back against the cool wall, letting her take charge of their defensive argument, mildly curious about how she will choose to go about it.

"It's not like we don't acknowledge the fact that we are needed on the frontlines, sensei. It's just that we could provide just as much input and be of help from in here, just in a different way. And besides…" She looks away, her amber eyes defiant, but the fatigue written all over her face is clear as day to anyone who might look at her. Orochimaru chuckles to himself. Guilting their sensei into doing things they all know he shouldn't do is something of a specialty for the members of team Hiruzen. "We're kinda tired, sensei. From… everything that's going on out there."

Orochimaru gives a hardly noticeable nod, more at her tactics than the content of her words. He is tired indeed, though from the lack of time and adequate conditions to explore the bodies he gets his hands on rather than from the actual bloodshed, but he will agree with whatever sentimental nonsense he has to in order to correct that imposition.

Their former teacher locks his fingers in front of his aging face, leaning forward.

"We are in the middle of a world war, you realize. And you two are some of our most valuable troops. As a Hokage, I cannot say I approve. But as your teacher…" A fatherly look of concern replaces his formal expression. "I understand how difficult it must be for you to constantly clash with the harshness and discord that's out there. Especially after what's happened to your brother, Tsunade. The battleground is no place to regain your feet after such loss, and I am sorry to have put you through it. But you have fulfilled your duty excellently. You both have."

Tsunade sniffs, but sets her chin upright. "For our village's sake."

The Hokage's expression tenderizes. "Yes… There is nothing more important than that." _Agree to disagree_ , Orochimaru thinks in mordant amusement, but keeps the remark to himself. "We have hardly seen your faces around here for the past six months, and I know how war can scar the mind." Their sensei's eyes skip over to Orochimaru, not at all humorously. "I have no wish to see my students change before my very eyes. In light of this, I will respect your wishes and let you be for a while."

Tsunade's face lights up. "Thanks, sensei. We really, really appreciate it."

"Now, don't be so quick to thank me. I am not authorizing you to run off on a gambling spree or take a vacation. You said you had something to contribute to the village's welfare, something you could do just as well from within its walls? I am giving you a chance to get on with that contribution."

Tsunade bows her head respectfully even though she has never been treated as anything short of a princess. When she looks up, her eyes sparkle in determination. "I am. I will. I promise, sensei."

"A war council will be taking place this evening," the Hokage continues, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Given your recent ventures into the Hidden Rain and the immediate perspective you would offer on the state of affairs there, I would say you are both invited to join."

Orochimaru retains his toneless, dignified expression, but there is no glossing over the way his female comrade's eyes widen to rustic saucers. "A-are you for real? We're so honored, sensei."

Truth be told Orochimaru is quite surprised himself. It is a rarity for jounin as young as them to be admitted to critical strategizing conventions like these. Then again, theirs is not exactly an ordinary case. Maybe he can use the occasion to collect more intelligence on the village's internal affairs, pick up a war rumor or two, stretch his web of influence into the backyard of the well-tried war generals.

But before he can think about any of this, he needs to get back to the village prison to retrieve his stipulated goods. After all, Amanone's bits can only last him so long. He warned the guard to have his things ready by the time he returned, and he intends to make good on his promise should the man have fallen short in his delivery.

Orochimaru waves his hand as he turns to leave, his jet black hair surrounding him like a cloak of dark intentions. "Hm. We best get on with our business, then."

"Hold up, you!" Tsunade cuts him off sternly.

Orochimaru throws his head back lukewarmly. "What is it, Princess?"

His female counterpart points an accusatory finger at him. "You promised you'd help me out with my project, remember?"

Orochimaru near damns himself for the little slip he had over on their way home. "Only if you helped me out with mine," he reminds her, hoping she will be too hungover to consider joining him on his daily errands.

Unfortunately, Tsunade crosses her arms intently, meeting his scrutinizing gaze resolutely. "Well I'm not doing anything today."

Orochimaru grits his teeth. This might set a little rod in his plans for the day. "That's too bad, Princess. Because I am. And my plans don't include you dragging me to those afflictive gambling dens of yours every odd hour."

Tsunade clicks her tongue in irritation. "That's called a casino you profaner. And they're very respectable establishments. But I'm telling you, I mean strict business today." She snorts, puckering resignedly. "Besides, I'm so broke I couldn't go if I wanted to. Which I don't. It's time to get some work done around here."

Orochimaru eyes her from head to toe appraisingly. "There will be grocery shopping, Princess," he warns, fully aware of how much she hates these chores. "And cooking. And quite a bit of ironing and dusting."

Tsunade's copper ponytails visibly stand on end, but she stomps her foot down. "Doesn't matter!"

Orochimaru quirks an eyebrow. "Did I mention there will be _studying_? From advanced genjutsu scrolls, Princess. You remember how much you liked genjutsu training back in the day, yes?"

She cringes, gritting her teeth, but still she holds her ground. All the while Sarutobi-sensei observes them in jovial amusement, chin rested on his hand, smiling patronizingly at the dear picture his students present. It irks Orochimaru more than he is willing to admit.

"We're not kids anymore," Tsunade spits out. "I-I don't really mind doing any of these things." Her tone of voice suggests just the opposite but she seems determined not to let that stop her. "And besides…" She takes a step forward, causing him to sashay back gingerly, clearly on the offensive now. "Shopping, cooking, cleaning? Is that your grand project? To become the village's number one housewife or something?"

Orochimaru clenches his jaw so hard he fears teeth will start breaking soon. What can he possibly do to dissuade her? Bribery, which is usually his trump card when it comes to her, is clearly off-limits, seeing as she appears to be genuinely set on getting her work done. Past that, there's precious little he can think of to offer her in exchange for an undisturbed afternoon. Orochimaru sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat. There's no reasoning with that woman sometimes.

"Meet me outside the public library at noon." Looks like his conjugal visit will be postponed. How bothersome. "And do not be late," he adds. "I have no intention of accommodating my schedule according to your tardiness."

Tsunade beams as she walks past him, standing up on her tiptoes as she sidesteps him, nearly dancing in victory as she glides past him, matching his slighted gaze with a smug grin.

"I knew you'd come around."

Maybe it's not going to be as bad as he fears. Perhaps he can reschedule his plans to take full advantage of what her connections throughout some of the more prominent village institutions have to offer. Perhaps he can use the opportunity to talk her into keeping silent about whatever it is in his physical state that she picked up on earlier.

"I'll bring an apron!" Tsunade sings out before she slams the door shut after herself sloppily, the whole room quaking slightly from the force of the impact. The honorific picture of the Second Hokage that mounts the far wall oscillates around its pin nail and subsequently drops off to the floor with a cringe worthy rattle, glass smashing to bits.

Orochimaru rubs his temples. Who is he fooling? It's definitely going to be as bad as he fears.

* * *

"Are you sure it is a good idea, sensei?" Orochimaru coos derisively after Tsunade has exited the room. "Allowing us to attend such an important meeting? I just might _steal_ something valuable by habit, like an ointment for arthritis, or a pair of dentures."

The Hokage frowns under his heavy triangular hat. "Watch your tongue, Orochimaru. You might be a prodigy, but your youth still shows. Have patience and respect for your elders and you just might learn something from them."

Orochimaru chuckles softly. "There is less and less to teach me, sensei. Soon enough I may be _forced_ to borrow more of the First's scrolls, if only to diversify my pastime." He cocks his head at his former teacher, smirking, curious about the man's limits when it comes to his favorite pupil. How much farther can he get away with pushing his old sensei? It is a twisted little game he has grown quite fond of these past couple of days. "I could even show you a few of his moves, for old days' sake."

The Hokage chortles. "Heh. I have raised a bighead student. I highly doubt you're as ready as you think yourself to be, but if you feel your path as a student has reached its end then you should take on the role of the teacher yourself. I could assign you a team from among the next academy graduates this coming fall if that's what you wish."

Orochimaru's lips curl in distaste. "I'm not interested in teaching, sensei. I'm only interested in learning."

The Hokage shakes his head. "My foolish student, you know so little… Sometimes it is precisely through passing on your knowledge that you get to pick up the most valuable lessons."

Orochimaru's hand is already at the doorknob when he turns, lips pulling to reveal a sad smile.

"I think you might be confusing teaching with aging, sensei. Wisdom only comes to us in due time. It's all a matter of how much of it you can endure before you go gray and die, really."

The Hokage crosses his arms, eyeing his student carefully. "So, what is your remedy for this issue?"

Orochimaru shrugs. "Why of course, sensei. Simply don't grow old at all."

* * *

Tsunade is running late, as usual. Honestly, if there isn't a lotto ticket there waiting for her at the end of a bargain, there's no telling when and if that woman is ever going to adhere to her responsibilities.

Despite his word of warning, she arrives exactly forty-five minutes past twelve, golden hair disheveled, her loose twin ponytails whipping behind her like confetti and her blue haori flying around her like what can only be described as a clumsy sea monster clinging to dear life. Her blonde hair is messy and her short crimson kunoichi skirt needs to be hiked down an inch or two, but Orochimaru knows his teammate well enough to keep these observations to himself.

"Sorry… for being… late," Tsunade huffs out as she grinds to a halt in front of him, bending over to catch her breath. "But you won't believe who I ran into on my way here."

Orochimaru is rather skeptical about her excuse, but quirks an eyebrow in expectance anyway. Tsunade waves her hand the way she typically does whenever her brain gets ahead of her mouth.

"That sizzling red-headed Uzumaki girl, the one they sealed the Nine-Tails in after my grandma couldn't do it anymore. You remember her? "

Orochimaru grimaces at the memory of the girl's unruly and ill-mannered nature. "Vaguely."

"We had a nice chat. She wouldn't let me go until I told her all about our A-rank missions. She looks up to me, I think." Tsunade laughs resoundingly, cheeks flushed, and scratches her head sheepishly. "She's turning into quite the force of nature, this one. She's still a brat and the boys in her class seemed frightened as hell of her."

Orochimaru looks at his teammate quizzically. Being able to strike fear into the hearts of the people close to her is something she seems to take pride in and hold in great esteem. It's also something Orochimaru could never make sense of. The fact that she terrifies Jiraiya, and even him on occasion, is definitely not something he would consider a plus.

"How is that a good thing, Princess?"

"Men should have respect of women," Tsunade says in her educational voice, lifting up her index finger to emphasize her point. "If a girl can't make a boy's heart go pitter-patter with both a smile and a fist, it's no good."

Orochimaru shakes his head, entirely unconvinced by either of her arguments. "You can't honestly tell me you were having small talk with that insufferable girl for nearly an hour, Princess."

"Well, no. I got delayed by Sakumo too. He was at the hospital and was really freaked out. Well, as freaked out as _he_ can get."

Orochimaru frowns. "What business did he have there?"

"Apparently, his fiancé found out she was expecting earlier today."

"…Expecting what?"

Tsunade rolls her eyes. "A child, Orochimaru. You know? A little pink baby that goes all wheeny-whiny when you hold it." Orochimaru cringes at the imagery of endless crying and changing diapers. He wonders why a brilliant ninja like Sakumo would commit his time to such aimless effort. Tsunade nudges his shoulder gently, oblivious to his thoughts. "Oh don't give me that face, you. You know you'll fall in love with the little fellow straight away, as soon as he or she pops up."

He's never felt a thing for children, and he does not see a reason to start now. "Hm. We'll see about that."

"I mean, can you imagine Sakumo as a dad? He's only two years older than us. It's quite surreal if you think about it… There'll be a little Sakumo running around here pretty soon. What do you think his kid will be like?" Tsunade laughs throatily, closing her eyes, seemingly enjoying the rush of crosswind as it ruffles her fair hair. "I just hope he doesn't end up being a total bookworm like his dad. Although nerdiness sits quite well with the Hatakes, I'll give them that."

"Personality does not run in a family's genes, Princess. I don't see a reason for you to worry."

It's Tsunade's turn to frown. "It's not about _genes,_ Orochimaru. It's about how a kid is raised. Children have a way of copycatting their parents' behavior, you know. They look up to their elders. Don't you remember how we used to wow at everything Sarutobi-sensei did or said?" Orochimaru only vaguely recalls being impressed by their teacher's skill, but even then he understood enough to know it would be just a passing phase. And he refused to consider the man's life philosophy altogether. "That's why it's up to us to set a good example for them to follow."

Orochimaru senses an oddly personal tinge in her words. Has Tsunade been thinking about starting a family of her own?

"Anyway," she adds quickly, as if to detract his attention from her previous words. "We need to be there for Sakumo and his bride rain or shine. It's what friends are for. And we should totally get them a kickass congratulatory present."

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? It's nice, it's fun, and it's customary. A child is something to be celebrated."

Orochimaru looks at her skeptically. "Shouldn't we wait until it's born, at least? Make sure it will live?"

Tsunade gawks at him indignantly. "Orochimaru!"

"It is the truth, Tsunade. Many children are stillborn. Or born with disease. And even if the child does live to take on the life of a ninja, there's no telling how long it will be until it dies or gets crippled during a mission."

"For the love of Buddha, we were talking about getting them a _baby shower_ gift. You know? Plush toys. Feeding bottles. One of those cute baby ninja suits. We weren't charting the million most crooked ways the kid could disappear from the face of earth, okay?" She tosses her head, emitting something between a frustrated growl and a sigh of resignation. "You're just so horrible sometimes."

"I do know that, Tsunade."

"…You make me want to punch you all over the face, you know that too?"

Orochimaru chuckles. "I thought that was mostly Jiraiya's job."

"Well now that he isn't around, you seem pretty keen on filling in for him."

"Heh. I would hardly let you beat me senseless, Princess. I hope you realize that."

Tsunade grins, her mischievous auburn eyes catching the sun and dividing its bright yellow dot between themselves.

"Perhaps we can spar sometime. It's been too long since I last took you on."

"Perhaps we should, Princess," Orochimaru purrs. "Perhaps we should."

"So, what are we doing today?" Tsunade asks, drumming her fingers against one of the memorial stone pillars erected in front of the library, somehow managing to make the gesture seem much less disrespectful than it is. Orochimaru is once again reminded that getting away with certain piddling to medium-sized misconducts _is_ one of his female counterpart's most distinguishing features. "Are we heading for your lab yet? You said you could use an expert's opinion, right? To tell you the truth I'm kinda dying to see what sort of cutting edge contraption you've been working so hard on."

Orochimaru dips his head, amused by her eagerness. "Not quite yet, Princess."

Tsunade gives him a quizzical look. "Huh?"

Orochimaru skips over a nearby chain link fence elegantly, only turning back to cast her a semi-prankish glare of his own. "You didn't remember to bring an apron, I take it."

Her face, Orochimaru thinks, is almost worth the trouble.

* * *

After three hours' worth of cooking and cleaning on Orochimaru's part and some very severe pans and pots deforming on Tsunade's, there have been three near-fires avoided and no less than seven scorched teriyaki yellowtails bred as a byproduct of Tsunade's attempts to 'help out'. It's a good thing he knows how to control her and her flimsy limbs with the occasional flick across her perky fingers or else his house would be in shambles by now. That said, one of his yukatas did fall victim to her ironing skills the three seconds he let her slip out of watch.

"Sorry I killed it," she murmurs her half-hearted apology. "For what's worth it looked very good on you back in its day."

It could have looked good on him on many more days to come, but Orochimaru swallows down the remark, opting to simply chain the woman to his bedpost for the rest of the afternoon.

"You. Are going. To stand. Still," he hisses in her face as he looms over her sitting form, punctuating each word with a whisk of his bone-white finger in front of her guilty face. She could have tried snapping the bed in two, but unlike Jiraiya, his female comrade is able to tell when the time has come to settle down and be quiet.

"So… um," she starts out hesitantly from the bedroom while he strolls back into the kitchen to wipe the grease from her failed frying trial off the hotplate. "War council's in a couple of hours. What are we going to do in the meantime? Are we going to your lab?"

Orochimaru tenses. She seems awfully keen on seeing the inside of his research facility today. "Possibly." He narrows his eyes even though she cannot see him doing so, carefully swaying the subject towards _her_ personal field. "Didn't you mention you needed helping with a project of your own, Princess?"

"Well… yeah," she concedes. "But that's kind of easy, really."

Orochimaru raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"All you need to do is…" There is some furious rattling. "Dammit Orochimaru, you infused those cuffs with chakra strings didn't you?"

Orochimaru smirks to himself and hums under his breath. He had a gut feeling she might try something like that. "A bit."

"I heard that! Ugh… Screaming through your apartment to get my point across is not exactly my favorite pastime, you know that?"

"And cleaning up after your free play across my kitchen board is not high on my list of preferences either," he retorts sleekly. "So, what did you need my help with?"

"Well…" she starts again sullenly. "You know how I told you I wanted to put forward some proposals for the village tutorship's consideration? About deepening the level of medical training we offer and increasing the presence of healers on the battlefield?"

Orochimaru keeps his tone and posture even, already getting a sense of where this might be headed. "I recall we had some such discussion, yes."

"So I've been thinking about an opportunity to present my... uh… opinion in front of the high-ups, and I figured war council's as good as it gets."

"So you're going to go ahead and do it tonight?"

"Well let's face it… we have no idea how this meeting is going to go down. First impressions count the most and if we fail to impress the old folks, we might as well not get invited to attend again anytime soon. I just have to make the most of my hour under the sun. This could be my chance to make a breakthrough for all future medical trainees." There is a pause. "I _know_ that what I'm trying to introduce here will save many more lives than ever could on the battlefield. I just need to get people to listen."

"I suppose that makes sense. However it could have the exact opposite effect if most people disagree with you, Princess."

Tsunade's sigh tumbles heavily from the adjoining room. "I know... I realize it's a make-or-break kind of deal, but I'm willing to risk it… That's why you're gonna back me up on this, right?"

Orochimaru's hand hovers over the hotplate, still clutching the dishrag. "I'm sorry Princess but I don't see this working out."

There is a good five second pause and then Orochimaru flinches, hearing his bed break to pieces. Tsunade jolt-storms into the kitchen a moment later, her bare feet slightly skidding over his tatami rug as she decelerates. Orochimaru doesn't need to turn to be aware of the gravely danger his close-by furniture is in.

"Come again?"

 _Careful, now._ He'll get what he wants if he just plays his cards right. "I'm simply not sure if I can be as credible while speaking on behalf of a movement I don't exactly fall in line with."

Tsunade marches up to him and slaps the washcloth from his hand. "Don't play coy with me, what's that supposed to mean? You don't think we need more medics? You think it's OK for people to just… live fight and die, live fight and die?"

"You misunderstand me, Princess. On the overall, I agree with your idea… it's you I have a problem with."

The causal tone with which he interjects the clearly ill-fitted statement does seem to strike a chord with her. Tsunade tilts her head back, releasing a small teehee and glancing askance at him. "Ok, for the sake of your impeccable nose bridge, I'm going to give you a chance to start over here…"

"Honest assessment is what you've always received from me, Princess, do not expect that to change now. I am simply not confident enough in your presentation skill."

Tsunade draws back in clear hurt. "How can you say that? I convinced half the village that gambling should be a compulsory subject at the Academy when I was twelve, and I would have convinced the other half if Sarutobi-sensei hadn't grounded us. I can damn well underscore the importance of survival rates."

"As impressive a résumé as that is, I'm not saying that you can't be persuasive when you put your mind to it. It's that you have a tendency to say inappropriate things on occasion, as soon as they occur to you and without thinking about the consequences. Granted, it's not as bad as with Jiraiya, but you must admit you do have this slight demerit written in your character."

Tsunade's eyes narrow and then expand shrewdly as she catches on. "Would this have to do with my comment about your appearance earlier today?"

A subtle smile licks its way on Orochimaru's lips. "As a matter of fact it would. If I am going to be aiding you, I would appreciate your… discretion on the matter."

Tsunade blinks awkwardly at him, gone speechless for a moment. "Well I wasn't really planning on telling anyone until you said that."

Orochimaru licks his lips, conjuring the melancholic mask of the child he used to be on his face. "I stayed up late doing research," he confesses. The best lies are always told from the perspective of the truth they bend. "I never intended it to go on this late into the night but I suppose I lost track of time. I simply don't wish for Sarutobi-sensei to worry. He already has too much on his mind."

Tsunade's eyes soften. At her core, she's not much different from their sensei. They all fall for it, for _him_ , and Orochimaru isn't sure whether it pleases him to have them wrapped around his finger so, or if it irks him that they would put so much trust in him, assuming to have some insight to his state of mind that he himself does not. "Orochimaru… What you do with your free time, that's none of my business. I'm honestly a little insulted that you would feel like you needed to strike a bargain to buy my silence."

"I like to be certain. Do we have an understanding, Princess?"

"You know you could have just _asked_ me not to tell."

"There are several things in this life I don't take well to, Tsunade, I thought you would have worked that out for yourself by now. Asking for things is one of them."

Tsunade sighs tiredly, shaking her head. "You really hate debts, don't you?"

"One of us has to, Princess, or else you would drive us into a crisis like no other."

"You know what I mean. I'm your friend, you know. You don't _have_ to consider each personal favor as something that needs to go both ways. This isn't rolling dice. We don't always need to be either even or at odds."

Orochimaru picks up the scrunched cleaning rag that has landed on the floor, unwinding it with a delicate fling of his wrist. "And that, my dear Princess, is part of the reason why you're such a bad gambler."

* * *

His overt laboratory is nothing like his secret one. Orochimaru keeps every facility of his in meticulous order, but this one is a testimony of his assiduity in particular. The room is sanitary-neat and brightly lit by cold fluorescent lamps hanging from the high ceiling, with white walls and unblemished shelves stacked full of harmless little things—regular syringes, fully acceptable blood samples, legally acquired academic scrolls; no dead allies strapped to tables, no human bits scattered about. He has even gone as far as to install a coffee maker and a pot at the far corner of it all. Nice little touch.

The lucent green test pillars banded with complicated sealing formulas which contain various transgenic creatures catch Tsunade's eye, he can tell. He is not all too surprised. These are the most dubious integrals he has allowed into this experimental laboratory. Although completely controllable, their appearance is quite startling. Floating in the fluid environment, they look like dormant archaic beasts in the midst of their great slumber.

Tsunade leans forward to get a closer look at one of the individuals, tapping on the glass beaker lightly. She backtracks skittishly when the creature's scaled body pulsates once in response to her touch.

"It's twitching!" she exclaims, wide-eyed.

Orochimaru shrugs, donning his white working medical scrubs. "Naturally."

"You keep them alive?"

"I need them to be biologically functional or else it would be just another regular dissection."

Tsunade shudders ever so slightly. "Still… you never considered covering them up for outside visitors? People might get… creeped out."

"Repelling unwelcome visitors is part of the reason I decided to keep them here in the first place."

A flash of mistrust reflects in her fire-kissed ambers and it is a moment before he realizes his mistake. Her chuckle is a single octave short of far-fetched. "Where else would you keep them?"

Orochimaru curses inwardly. He really needs to watch his mouth in front of that woman. She and Jiraiya have this irritable little effect on him that could be his undoing—his words flow way too freely when he is around them. Only Jiraiya is an owlish fool and she is not.

They stare each other down for an instant, her almond eyes seemingly searching for something in his cool henna ones—Orochimaru doesn't know what she wants from him. A confirmation that he can be trusted? He has saved her life more times than he can count. If that's not proof enough for her, he doesn't plan on straining further.

"Nowhere. I'd simply discard them. It was figure of speech, Princess. And you really ought to work on your sense of perception regarding species that make you uncomfortable," he adds in hopes to addle the conversation. "You might find yourself in need to share premises with grasshoppers again one of these days, and Jiraiya and I might not be there to defend you."

Tsunade appears to be taking the bait quite eagerly. She whips her head around, jabbing an outraged finger into his vestment-clad chest. "Those were _big_ , Orochimaru! And I swear they had clippers."

Orochimaru gives no obvious reaction, and a lumbering silence falls between them.

Her gaze shifts, eventually, as she traces his oblong research plot with curious fingers, gliding along it and taking in its furnishings and utensils. "Muscle tissues extract, chakra seal formulas, blood substitute…" she hums under her breath thoughtfully. "What do you need all those things for anyway?"

"Research, my wonderfully blonde Princess."

"Oh do shut up. What kind of research, I mean?"

Orochimaru looks her up and down, wondering how much of the precarious information he can entrust her with. He decides to go with telling her of his latest experiment because that's the area he feels could most benefit from her vast biophysical competence.

He takes a seat in front of his desk and she joins him, sinking into a chair next to him as she smoothes over her skirt.

"Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?" he asks as he pulls out a sealed cardboard box from the improvised storage under the broad board.

"You mean, the concept of small things having large-scope consequences and all this?"

"No," Orochimaru renounces as he slips his hands into a pair of chalk-white gloves and flexes his phalanges in a practiced motion to feel the latex clinging to his flesh, his pale hands barely registering a change in color. "The other butterfly effect. The literal one. In which one entity evolves into another over a period of time under the influence of certain enzymes for adaptation purposes."

"You're talking about metamorphosis."

Orochimaru dismisses her statement with a wag of his scalpel. " _Improved_ metamorphosis."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it. As a fetus, the human child looks nothing like when it is born. As the parental organism's pregnancy progresses into its later stages, the individual develops certain features that are customary for our species. In a way, you could say it's taking a single cell and turning it into billions. It is in each and every human's DNA to build and reconstruct as it advances in its biological growth. But it's only embedded to happen once, in embryo. Now, if there was a way to invoke that process at will…"

"So you're aiming to develop some sort of sped-up cell regeneration."

"Cells. Tissues. Organs. Even larger portions of the human body. All it would take is one good cell left in our bodies, and we would be able to fully recreate ourselves from scratch."

Tsunade scratches her side, doubt written on her face. "Even I can't do that, Orochimaru. And, not to brag, but I'm pretty darn good at what I do."

"I am aware of that, Princess. But I am not talking about healing. Healing suggests creating links and bridges for the old flesh to mend itself. What I am trying to achieve is not piecing together the old flesh. At this point I'd call it exactly the opposite. I want to convince my body to rearrange itself in all sorts of ways. It is… transformation, rather than simple patching. Fluency of the human body aggregate."

Tsunade's eyes widen as realization strikes her. "It'll be just like…"

"…shedding skins," he finishes for her.

"But how are you going to stimulate your body to morph into something else, and how can you be sure that this new thing will be an exact replica of you, with your physical traits and personality, and not something biologically dysfunctional? Cells have specific functions, you know. Epithelial cells have a different type of information encrypted in them than brain cells. You can't unravel an entire person at random out of every single cell. There will be bits of you… missing. Not to mention you _are_ trying to mess with nature. That's gotta have some snares waiting for you."

Orochimaru nods his head, acknowledging her thoughtfulness. "I wondered that too, for a while. I'm storing away the enzymes that cause caterpillars to transmute into adult butterfly individuals, but of course those will need some readjusting to accommodate the human body."

Orochimaru brings up two of his fingers in front of his face, releasing the sealing technique on the cardboard box sitting before him. The butterflies begin to flood the room almost immediately, causing Tsunade to gasp in surprise.

"I do hope you have no problem with these, Princess."

Tsunade shakes her head quickly, looking around the fluttering insects with all of a child's enthrallment. "N-no. Not at all. Where did you get these?"

"I had my snakes store them away for me as cocoons, one by one."

"Wow… It must have been quite a project for you."

"It's nothing compared to what I wish to achieve here. As you mentioned, the process is a complicated and rather unpredictable one. Of course I would think my body is particularly predisposed to undergoing such a procedure."

Tsunade eyes him falteringly. "Is it because of the… snaky stuff?"

Orochimaru gives out a soft chuckle at her clear hitch. He appreciates her tact when it comes to his serpentine nature even if those things stopped being a concern to him a long time ago. "You could say that. But that's not enough, or it hasn't proven productive for me anyway. It's like it needs a trigger, something to awaken the process in the cell nucleus."

He pauses, crossing his legs and pressing his fingers to his chin in a contemplating fashion while holding up a cerise sample containing some of the enzymes he has extracted to his eyelevel.

"I couldn't think of an answer for quite a long time. In the end I decided to go back to what causes metamorphosis in the first place. I have reached the conclusion that its principle benefit is that it allows the juveniles and the adults of a species to occupy non-competing ecological niches. A caterpillar, for example, might chew leaves—but in its adult form after metamorphosis, it might sip nectar. Thus the adults do not compete with the juveniles for resources. A second benefit to metamorphosis would be that it allows the juveniles and the adults to specialize in different functions. The juveniles are specialized to eat and grow, but the adults are specialized for reproduction. Metamorphosis is also a gateway to extremely rapid and prolific offspring—and that in itself is the cause of so many species filling so many niches and exhibiting so many forms of adaptations."

Tsunade stares at him queerly. "So?"

"So I asked myself, what do those things have in common? Why would nature make certain species exhibit such a pattern in the first place?

"And? What did you figure?"

"It's the striving for survival. That is the purpose of metamorphosis."

She takes a few seconds to visibly mull over his statement. "So, you think it needs to be triggered by something?" she asks finally.

"I believe so."

"But what?"

"A strong desire to live. There is no force greater than the instinct of self-preservation."

He'll put that theory to the test soon enough. In an unalloyed fit of excitement, he has already set up the fighting grounds in a dungeon north-west of the village which he had Manda dig a while back. He only needs a few prisoners to pit against each other and the results will start to flow in.

Tsunade leans back in her chair, pinching her nose nervously. "Orochimaru… This all sounds amazing, but…"

He lifts up his head as he gives her a careful look. "What is it, Princess?"

"You're talking about unleashing a _massive_ jutsu here. Have you even given any thought about how much chakra this thing would consume? I don't think there's a ninja alive who has such vast reserves, not since my grandma. You'd probably get drained and die before you get a chance to rejuvenate your body properly."

"You do have a point, Princess, but I've already considered it and am in the middle of devising a means to sidestep this little inconvenience."

Tsunade gives out a short chortle, smiling impressedly at him. "As Buddha is my witness, you have more projects running simultaneously than I can keep up with."

Orochimaru lifts up his chin elegantly, accepting her compliment. "It's called multi-tasking, Princess. Time utilization. Making the best of your schedule."

"There's really no problem you can't work your way around, is there?"

"Other than Jiraiya's continued string of stupidity, none whatsoever."

"So what _is_ your genius plan this time?"

"Well… Chakra is, in a way, like blood. It gets produced by our bodies on a regular basis rather than the exact same fluid circulating our system over and over. So I suppose we _could_ learn to extract it and store it for later consumption, just like with blood banks."

"But where would you get a vessel fit to carry _chakra_?"

"If your grandmother and that Uzumaki girl are anything to go by, the human body is an excellent vessel for large portions of chakra, be it its own or a foreign one."

Tsunade leans forward, eyes wide and clear and filled with appreciation for his ideas. He rather likes it when someone is clever enough to grasp the ingenuity of what he is trying to accomplish. "Orochimaru… That's actually pretty brilliant. We… we could store away our chakra and have near infinite reserves of it when we need it!"

"Don't get too excited, Princess. It's simply a theory. Of course it would require a specialist in sealing jutsu to supervise the progress. You were quite natural at those back in the day, if I recall correctly?"

Perhaps her skill can help him perfect the Cursed Seal technique he tried out with Amanone last night, too. But of course she doesn't need to know how the knowledge she shares with him will be exploited.

Tsunade bites her thumbnail. "Now that you mention it…"

"So you might be able to determine whether or not a seal can facilitate the storing of chakra into our or another person's system."

A frown settles between her fine eyebrows. "Why in the world would you want to seal away your chakra in someone else's body?"

 _Because my own is not big enough for my ambition._ Orochimaru has no intention to be restricted by the limits of singularity.

The show he puts up is entirely for Tsunade's benefit. "If a comrade runs out of chakra during a fight, it might prove useful to be able to transfer some of your own into him."

"Oh I see." Tsunade gives out a small laughter. "You really thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Let's hope I did, Princess," Orochimaru drones quietly. "Let's hope I did."

He snatches a butterfly from the circling swarm absent-mindedly and pins it down to the examining lens with the razor-sharp tip of his scalpel. He positions his magnifying glass over the pierced thing and writes down his observations with his free hand while the insect flutters like frenzied as he applies more pressure to its thorax and hind wings.

"Curious," he murmurs, more to himself than to Tsunade, who is becoming something of an afterthought the more he sinks into his realm of science.

"So, um…" Her voice snaps him back to reality. "What do I do?"

He perks up at her. "You can take a look at those sealing formulas over there on the raft," he says, briefly inclining his head in the scrolls' rough direction. "They are some of the advanced sealing techniques developed by your grandfather the Second. His untimely demise has left several of them incomplete but I believe we could fuse two or more into one that ultimately accommodates our goals. I have revised some of them myself though I still cannot decide which ones will best suit my purpose."

"And you'd really like my opinion?" The tinge of pride in her voice makes him lower his eyelids in mild amusement. The woman's fascination with him is nothing quite like the immediate, knee-jerk response of his guinea pigs and idolaters, whose adoration for him is as tedious as it is irreplaceable. Tsunade is a different matter. She is genuinely impressed with his work and values his assessment of her because of that, on a rational level. Having her around her is not entirely unpleasant, he has to admit.

"So it seems, Princess. Feel free to leave notes if need be."

Tsunade gasps in feigned shock. "You're giving me permission to _correct_ you? Who are you and what have you done to Orochimaru?"

"I would appreciate a bit of quiet now, Princess," Orochimaru chuckles leniently. "I realize it's not the way you are used to doing things, but I do like to conduct my work at peace."

"Your lab your rules," Tsunade tweets, her heels clicking happily against the tile as she strolls over to her section of the work bench. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of her hesitating next to her chair.

"Something the matter, Princess?"

She side-eyes him timidly. "Can I wear one of those killer ponchos?"

It takes him a good three seconds to grasp that she has referred to his linen medical robes. "I don't believe I have one just your size, Princess, but feel free to help yourself from the top right drawer over to your side."

He'll simply have to remember to discard it later. He resents having to wear clothes after another has already used them, just like he despises having to work his way around a meal with chopsticks that are not his own. The smell of another human being is just too intrusive for his sensitive tongue.

Tsunade sets her blue robe to the side and clumsily wiggles into one of his white coats, laughing a little when she finds it too broad at the shoulders and discovers there is no cinch to fasten it at the waist. "I've got to say, it looks so much better on you."

Orochimaru returns to his work, a half-smile still smoldering at the corners of his lips.

"Hey, Orochimaru…"

His teammate's voice has suddenly turned odd. When he looks up to see what has caused her tone to deteriorate so, his hand freezes mid-incision.

"This was kind of in my—I mean your pocket…"

Much to his recoil, she is holding up a small stoppered cuvette containing a dense dark blue liquid with a black core slowly throbbing at the center of it, branching out in vein-like fibers. Orochimaru remembers the last time he wore that particular robe now, clear as day. A token from his _other_ laboratory.

He walks over to her as calmly as he can and takes the sample from her deftly, neither too quickly nor with enough hesitation to arouse further suspicion. "It's part of an ongoing research about my clan's background. Since I have no living relatives to turn to. It's nothing your knowledge relates to."

She nods, but the uncertainty lingers in her eyes a moment longer than he would have liked. _Too little sleep_ , Orochimaru thinks bitterly. _And too many slips._

Once again it's one of his teammates that has him questioning his own limits, treading the borderline of his dual life in a most obnoxious fashion. He shouldn't have taken her up on her proposal to spend the day in each other's company to begin with, especially in his current state. Orochimaru stashes away the test tube in his inner pocket, this time remembering to activate the discrete sealing formula that serves as a zipper. He doesn't spare Tsunade a second glance. Instead he looks down at the half-dead insect writhing and worming under his blade. It would be more merciful to kill it now, while it's still unaware of the true extent of his experiments…

No.

Orochimaru is neither merciful nor a man to allow loose ends to pester his mind. He wills the scalpel to keep dancing, and the little varmint along with it.

He takes a mental note never to mix _any_ type of equipment between his two laboratories, and highlights it with a bold line.

* * *

There is something infinitely transfixing about watching Orochimaru conduct his research. His hazel eyes are so focused, his thick black hair falling over his face like a stage curtain. Is he the genius or the villain of the play? Both? Tsunade isn't sure about anything anymore. Anything but the fact that he is pretty damn amazing at what he's doing.

His cuts never strain; every movement is perfectly calculated, not a single surplus incision. Perhaps it's the passion he clearly has for his task, the exact same passion that is so lacking in every other aspect of his life, that has Tsunade gripping the edges of her chair as she secretly watches him work his magic, the butterflies coming undone under his fingers, but somehow it's not at all ugly to oversee.

None of it is ugly, like when she has had to do it on frogs or mice or even human corpses. Autopsies have never really been her cup of tea.

He makes it all look… logical. And the way he talks about it… _Spellbinding._ If it were anyone else saying those things he has just told her of, she would have probably dubbed it the rant of a lunatic. But he makes it sound so plausible, so very easy to believe, he and his bizarre, enigmatic emanation. Her black-haired teammate has always had this inexplicable effect on people, like a dark godhead sent to walk the earth, binding those around him to himself. When pitted against Jiraiya's thorough and numerous misadventures into the land of appeal (the cryptic, backstairs sort of appeal and not all-out shenanigans), her other comrade's charisma stands out even more.

He doesn't even need to say or do anything. _He could just take a breath and it'd still be controversial._ Yes, her dark and cryptic teammate does have a way to play games with her mind without even trying, and it frustrates her and maybe embarrasses her a little. She is supposed to be _smart_. The medic. The qualified second opinion he seems to view her as. Yet here she is, ogling at his work like a kid at a candy shop.

She can't help it, really. She should. It's just that what he says makes perfect sense. She can easily tell he has a brilliant mind, even if some of his ideas appear to be somewhat radical.

It's hard to imagine anything bad could come from any of it when the entire room is filled with dozens of butterflies, each colorful dot making his lab look and feel like some exotic strand of unknown adventures.

"I notice you aren't overly keen on getting anything done today, Princess," Orochimaru's husky voice purrs and it is then that she realizes he has suspended his work and is now looking her straight in the eye with those piercing pools of hazel vagueness.

"T-that's not true!" Tsunade squeals defensively. The last thing she wants is for him to think she can't get her act together for a single afternoon, especially in light of the commitment she proclaimed back in Sarutobi-sensei's office. "The butterflies are just… lovely to look at."

"I could have them removed if they're such an absorption of your focus."

Tsunade pouts, feeling ashamed. "You think I'm too stupid to concentrate?"

He bares his teeth in a wolfish smirk. "'Stupid' is not a term I would use to describe you, Princess. 'Distracted' is more the word for it."

Tsunade decides to let the remark slide, merely rolling her eyes. Her eyes skim over to the occupation of his cutlass. She hesitates before she spits out this nagging question that has been on her mind for a long while. "Doesn't it get to you, sometimes? All this… death?"

Orochimaru keeps sporting that lax smile of his that tells her everything and nothing at the same time. "You can't defeat something if you always look the other way, Princess."

"You're going to… defeat death?"

"Hm. I hope there will come a day when I will no longer need to think about its restrictions."

"But aren't you afraid it will come for you before you've managed to achieve…" She can't quite formulate it. "…whatever it is you wish to accomplish?"

"It would be rather troublesome, to be sure."

"But you're not afraid of it?"

"…No."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Her dark-haired teammate is quiet for a while. Just when Tsunade thinks he won't dignify her question with any kind of response, he says, "Fear is irrational. But if I had to name one thing that is exceptionally displeasing to me, it would probably be… dead-ends."

The evasive answer does not surprise her. It's so… _him_ to say something like that. She used to think he spoke in riddles just to confuse her when they were children. She felt too smart around Jiraiya and too stupid around Orochimaru, never quite feeling she had an even match on either side. While Jiraiya outright annoyed her, she scorned and doted on her pale teammate at the same time for always managing to keep one step ahead of her both in their training and in their conversations. It was years later that she got to understand he didn't talk in complicated patterns to befuddle her.

Orochimaru _is_ a riddle, and Tsunade doesn't even know if he has the answer to it all himself.

At least not yet.

She secretly fears that something horrible will happen the day he comes to a conclusion about himself. It's an inexplicable feeling of foreboding that has taken root deep in the pit of her stomach and just won't go, no matter how hard she tries to usher it away.

Tsunade watches as the room fills with more butterflies, hundreds of them flitting around and crawling up the white walls and lacing them with all the colors there are, dancing their first and final dance, a motley swarm of jades and violets and amaranths. She observes in an odd mixture of unease and fascination as Orochimaru periodically nabs an unfortunate insect and snaps it between his pale fingers without so much as looking, his dexterous strikes never missing their target, his whole being fully immersed in his work.

It should bother her, maybe, that gleam in his eye as he crops away at the insects. She should feel hurt that he only seems to let her in on part of his work, not trusting her fully with his other experiments. After all, not so long as five minutes ago, he all but blatantly told her she was underqualified to understand what he was doing. And she should damn well be mad about the way he chose to treat her in his apartment when he ever so causally slipped in that mutual favor arrangement, which to be quite frank dangerously resembles blackmail to her. Concerned, hurt, mad. She should be all those things. And she probably will be, in a few hours, when they leave here and the anxiety of what on earth she will be saying at the war council kicks in. But right now she just takes a deep breath and watches on and all she can think is—

 _Ah, the butterflies._

* * *

 **notes:  
** 1\. Been too long, lovely peeps, been too long. I'm so sorry for being away for over half a month, but now that school's almost officially off my back, university prep work decided to kick into full gear. You'd think that being enrolled early grants you the right of a care-free spring and summer? Yeah, guess again. Got tons of practice to do, and a third foreign language to take on. But I'm still doing my very best to come through with this fic both for my own sanity and for those of you who enjoy it. Hurray!  
2\. I've got tons of ridiculous ideas about Orochimaru's nastier experiments and I very well intend to include them, but if there's any suggestions about kinky stuff you'd like to see him do in the context of the story, I'm all ears. The badder the better, right?


	13. A Web of Schemes

**XII.  
A Web of Schemes**

The sight of the Ninja Academy has long since lost its sentimental value to him, if it ever held any sort of plain peasant charm at all. Like most things in the village these days, it symbolizes a simple phase of his evolution, a placeholder for actual power that he has risen above.

The wistful sigh that sets sail from Tsunade's lips as they approach their old school reminds him just how different the both of them are at their core; despite the relatively agreeable afternoon they've shared in his lab, they are still miles apart in their moral ground zero, and even further cut off in terms of their working ethics.

"This is kinda weird," his copper-haired teammate prattles as the last few children milling about the playground skip past them and into the arms of their awaiting parents, their elongated shadows dancing on the sunset-facing wall of the gymnasium like queer black aliens. "It feels like only yesterday that we got our first headbands right in this courtyard."

Thinking back on these days is not something Orochimaru enjoys or does very often. He can only thank Buddha that he had been spared Jiraiya's presence in those early years. Six-year-old Tsunade alone had been more than he could handle. His relationship with her throughout their Academy years was… trying, at best.

He vaguely recalls her seating herself next to him without asking permission— _you're that smart kid, right?_ —grinning and unruly and spelling a bundle of trouble. Orochimaru couldn't help but cite the way she caught attention like oil on fire, and how some of it unfortunately spread over to his part of the desk. What annoyed him most were probably her exceptionally poor manners for someone of the peerage. She laughed too loudly, spoke too freely, and took constant and chummy physical contact as a given. Half the time she looked like she expected a silver platter, the other half she spent trying to copy off him on world war history tests (which was ironic, considering the defining role her own grandfathers had played in it). No one ever dared berate her for her sloppiness though; she never got a single slap on the wrist. Orochimaru didn't like it when someone thought themselves too high-flown to play by the rules.

But nothing compared to her inept attempts to get him to socialize with the rest of their group. He still cringes amply whenever he relives those endless afternoons of pranking teachers against his will (and he had been _good_ at it, seeing as he never believed in doing things halfway), partaking in thoroughly humiliating jump rope sessions, and that one never-to-be-spoken-of bungle when she fell on his lap while playing tug of war.

"It feels like a lifetime ago to me, Princess."

Tsunade nudges his shoulder playfully even though she should know better than to touch him. "Pretend all you like, mister, but I've seen our old team picture dallying right there on your night stand. You miss the old days when the four of us were together 24/7 as much we do."

Apparently there's a downside to chaining an observant woman to your bedpost. "Does this trip down memory lane have a point, Princess?"

"The point is it's screwy that we're the ones in charge now. Doesn't it feel odd to you that we're the grown-ups? Even a little bit? The kiddies think we're _the green jackets_." She punctuates her bottom line with a dramatic gesture. "The ones that are supposed to always have our act together. Orochimaru, if danger comes to the village, we're expected to protect those same kids we used to be."

Orochimaru doesn't see how that's a revelation. They all stopped being viewed as children the day they set foot into a military zone, and they had seen and done enough to make the adulthood cut long before that. "It is the natural order of things," he says plainly. "The young replace the old, and one day soon they will try and replace us too."

Tsunade sighs cheerlessly. "Then it's our legacy that really counts, huh?"

Orochimaru leers, his hazel eyes laced with a tinge of sadness for his teammate's flawed idea of the world's workings. "Hn. We are our own legacy, Princess. There is no point in lamenting bygones or expecting to find glory in death. Power comes through the trials of time. It is absurd to spend half our lifetime gaining it and the other half giving it away to someone else. What we accomplish would have any meaning whatsoever only if we're here to make it last."

He doesn't like the way she won't meet his eye after this. "I don't understand a word you say, as always..." she mutters under her breath.

Orochimaru brushes off her sullen umbrage without a word.

They enter the Academy building and stroll past their old classrooms in silence. The first storage is mostly vacant and sparingly lit now that the children have scurried home. They wander through it like ghosts misplaced in time, sharp heels biting into tiles the only sound rending the ghoulish lull. Click, click, click. _Do you hear that, sensei?_ Orochimaru thinks in intrinsic mockery. It is the sound of a dead childhood.

It's curious how there is not an ounce of dust clinging to the premises yet it very much feels like they have barged into a museum of relics. Trophies and records claimed by their generation (some of them Orochimaru's personal achievement) ogle at them from behind window dressings, gloating in their intangibility year after year. A mosaic selection of yearbook pictures crawls up the walls, a reminder for youngsters to always honor their elders, and a memento for the seniors of the time they weren't much different from their juniors. There is a copy of team Hiruzen's standard photograph among them as well, sitting proudly at the center of that year's class, Sarutobi-sensei overlooking a grinning white-hair, a visibly ticked off blonde, and a pale boy gingerly keeping his distance from the former two. It's a silly picture commemorating an even sillier day. To this day Orochimaru isn't sure why he's kept a copy of it.

There is no time to dawdle in melodramatics tonight though, so he and Tsunade don't linger in the dim corridors for long. They are no longer here to study up on simple basics, after all. This time, they mean business. That's why they are headed to the upper floor. That's where all things worth mentioning take place.

War councils, for instance.

They arrive just in time to see the spacious conference hall flood with attendants, overseers and patrons. Sarutobi-sensei is already there, assumed the central seat on the cathedra, clad in his formal white-and-red Hokage robes, presiding over the buzzing chaos that is slowly arranging itself as the meeting draws closer to its launching hour.

Orochimaru scans the room subtly, his snake eyes prowling the guests. Scars. Wrinkles. Gray hair. Somber and sedate faces. The sun has passed its zenith for most of them.

Nevertheless, it turns out they are not entirely bereaved of peers. Sakumo is there too, grassfuls of his signature spiky silver hair jutting out above the mass of sitting people as he languishes in his chair with a book to his face, complacent and apathetic as ever. Orochimaru recognizes a few more familiar faces blended in with the miscellaneous crowd of green flak jackets and pontifical cloaks of elders and respectful scholars and maimed veterans. A vein throbs slowly on his forehead when he spots a smirch of lavender among the large assembly, a shade so obnoxiously exclusive it can only belong to one man.

"Dan!" Tsunade all but squeals, standing up on her tiptoes and craning her neck like a meerkat to get a better vintage point. It's pathetic, really, the urgency in her voice. Orochimaru does not like it when he has to use that particular word to describe her. "Is that Dan Kato over there?"

Orochimaru grits his teeth. Apparently they let anyone in here. If it weren't for his firm grip on her forearm, Tsunade would probably be running people over in an effort to cross the sardined hall. "Don't get sidetracked now, Princess," he hisses in her ear. "It is neither the time nor the place to create a scene."

"I was just gonna go say hi," Tsunade glowers, but nods reluctantly. She plucks her arm from his grasp now that he allows it, a bit more forcefully than necessary.

Orochimaru has no taste for the way they always seem to come to grapples whenever that man is involved.

"Save the small talk with your old contacts for later," he warns his teammate. She and Jiraiya have never been naturals to treading political currents, so Orochimaru feels obliged to educate them. "If we are going to mingle, we should use the time to make new acquaintances, ones that may benefit us down the road."

Tsunade rubs her temples, bemoaning her fate. "You want us to talk to the old lot, don't you?"

Orochimaru smirks down at her indulgently. "I'm afraid so, Princess. And I suggest we start with the advisors."

"Are you nuts?" she whispers loudly, outrage splashing onto her face like a gallon of turpentine. "Those mossbacks are dry as prunes! They even make Sarutobi-sensei seem like a cool gramps."

Just as Orochimaru is about to lose his cool, he notices a figure approaching. A man with an eye patch, and a crisscrossed scar chiseled on his chin. _Speaking of the devil…_

Orochimaru clears his throat and deftly flips his teammate around by the shoulders. Her reaction does not skip a heartbeat. He immediately feels her go stiff in his clutch, her nerves unwittingly sending chakra to sizzle in a hostile nimbus around her.

"And remember," he whispers delicately in the drape of her hair, "it's presentation that counts the most. It's not about what you say…"

"It's about _how_ I say it, yes, yes. Relax." On all accounts she should be the one heeding her own advice, but Orochimaru decides to save his breath. He feels her inhale deeply in his arms and then exhale, tossing her copper locks in a decisive manner. "I've got this."

The oncoming man's light step halts in front of them.

"Evening, elder Danzo," Orochimaru inclines his head while Tsunade settles for nodding.

"Well met, young ones," the ex Hokage contestant answers, a subdued air of superiority wafting around him. "It has been a while since I last laid eyes on any of the Third's pupils. The three of you are rather difficult to chance upon. You are like fleas, jumping from one kill room to the next, doing your teacher's objectionable business for him." Orochimaru is nearly able to _scent_ Tsunade's face fall. His fingers weave around her wrist tactfully, squeezing at the flesh and curbing her chakra, perceiving her fists clench and unclench at her sides in her own little effort to relieve the boiling anger, so easily ignited. "But I suppose that's what lackeys are for. I must admit though, I would have never expected to run into not one but two of you on such a significant symposium… Sometimes I do wonder what that man is thinking."

"Maybe that it's time for some fresh blood to stir the old people swamp?" Tsunade spits out before Orochimaru can cut her off.

" _Presentation_ , Princess," he murmurs sharply, sinking his nails into the bare skin of her forearm.

She coughs, finding her bearings once more as her tone switches back to formal politeness. "Ahem! It's been lovely seeing you, lord Danzo. We should, um, do it again sometime."

"I am no lord, Princess Tsunade, but I can appreciate how the young mind can get confused by the intricacy of political correctness."

The silence that falls between them is deafening. Orochimaru does not wait for his teammate's notoriously short candlewick to burn down.

"We should best take our seats now, Princess. Sarutobi-sensei is about to commence with his opening speech."

"Indeed," Danzo continues unabashedly. "Youngsters should benefit from each word. I do hope to see more of you in the future. It's always gratifying to welcome new faces to these councils, regardless of how they came into their high station."

Tsunade's lips curl away to reveal her teeth, the crude sound belched form the depths of her throat rasping dangerously close to a growl. "Oh screw y—"

"Our seats are right over there, Princess."

Orochimaru does his best to usher his ticking bomb of a teammate away from the prospective crime scene. Once he makes sure she is seated for good, he rejoins the crowd and crosses his arms, not looking at Danzo but indirectly addressing the man as they stand almost but not quite back to back.

"The whole of our country's populace knows that patience is not Princess Tsunade's strong suit," Orochimaru remarks evenly. "Provoking her like that was rather unimaginative."

"I can see you are faring much better in this department," Danzo's clever voice answers.

"I rarely get caught up in playgames. Especially ones so obviously set up."

"No pry is too base when it comes to the good of our village. We all do as we must to preserve our vision for the future and our best interest, wouldn't you say?"

Orochimaru lets his tongue to wander out from the confinements of his mouth in a lazy swirl. "I don't _preserve_ my interest," he drawls, each word quietly dramatic. "I expand it."

"Ah, the gust of youth. And if your teacher was to stand in the way of your interest?"

Orochimaru's mind flirts darkly with the countless retort possibilities. He has seen and heard enough of this man through the years to know he is not a friend of the Hokage's, yet no enemy to the village itself. Truth be told he is unsure what to make of him. His goals remain a mystery shrouded in intricately spun webs; a veil Orochimaru is starting to think perhaps is time to uplift, if only to feel the thrill of discovering another carnivore to scrimmage with in his pastime.

If they are to dance the dance, there is no point to pretend with him. Orochimaru tilts his head and combs a pale hand through his jet black hair, lips pulling to reveal a crooked wolfish smirk. "Let's simply say he wouldn't be standing for long."

If the man thinks to take the confession to Sarutobi-sensei, Orochimaru will simply have to come up with a decent enough lie to explain it. Time has proved that unless there is substantial evidence against him, his old teacher will buy anything his favorite pupil has to sell.

Danzo locks his fingers over his cane, a cryptic simper dithering at the scrunched corners of his lips.

"1,028 official completed missions. 16 D-rank, 332 C-rank, 423 B-rank, 209 A-rank, 57 S-rank. I have been watching you, Orochimaru. And I have been looking for ground to turn to you. You are a rare enough thing—a man who lives up to his reputation entirely. Saru must be losing his sleep over you."

Orochimaru's eyebrows arch finely. "Surprised?"

"Not at all. I can see you are turning out just as I imagined. It's clear to me that you have set your sights to what's riling beneath the surface. The Hidden Leaf as it is will soon be too parochial for you. Meet me at the end of this evening if you wish to find out what your teacher has been keeping from you."

With that arcane statement the man sashays away, evanescing into the throng like the very definition of fata morgana.

Orochimaru stalks away too, retreating to his seat as he mulls over their exchange. He is mildly intrigued by all this, he has to admit.

He isn't given enough time to contemplate his situation.

"I swear to Buddha, that man," Tsunade frets next to him, completely absorbed in her vehemence. "I'm telling you, it will snow on the hills of hell before I _ever_ try to be nice to him again."

"Princess, you are not off to a great start. Need I remind you why you are here?"

"No you don't. I'm just not sure how much more of that geezer's stuck-up crap I can put up with before I blow my stack and serve him my fist for dinner."

"Focus, Princess. This is no place to forget your manners."

"Not _all_ of us can be calm as a cucumber when openly called a lapdog and a toady."

"Well you had better find a way to get past this because I am not declaring my support for a woman who looks like she should be in line at the central hospital's anger management wing."

"I'm _trying,_ Orochimaru. I just can't control myself like that. That despicable man always gets my nerves in overdrive, you know that." Her eyebrows furrow in a frown as she suddenly side eyes him, accusation in her eyes. "He was insulting us both, by the way. How can _you_ be so goddamn calm?"

Orochimaru sighs, deciding to impart some of his wisdom to his distressed comrade. "Whenever I feel my emotions are getting the best of me, I simply picture an empty box, and I take whatever I'm feeling and put that in the box, and then I picture myself putting the box away in a big, empty closet and closing the door. Then if I have time, I go back and open the box and deal with the emotion in private, like a ninja."

Tsunade seems to ruminate on his words. "Thanks. I'll try that." Just as Orochimaru composes himself in his seat and prepares to listen to Sarutobi-sensei's speech, Tsunade leans in, voice strung out. "So you don't think I act like a ninja?"

Orochimaru turns to face her, taking in the sight of her disconsolate face, and decides to do something he usually doesn't—show some degree of consideration for another's feelings.

"Prove me wrong, Princess. Prove me wrong."

* * *

The meeting has been running for half an hour with no significant curveballs. They're arguing about the risks of maintaining trade routes through the Land of Wind, about the possibility of once again lowering the age of graduation from the Academy, about the expenses of running an economy that more or less floats on war income. The cost of training good medics comes up at some point, and that is when Orochimaru knows the time has come to brace himself for a predicament.

Tsunade clears her throat once, twice, three times until she's managed to attract enough attention to be in a juridical position to rise from her seat.

The advisors' faces crinkle in distaste. "The young should be honored just to be allowed on this council. You ought to use the time to listen and improve your mind, not offer up ineligible opinions..."

"I did not ask our youth here merely to spectate. Let us hear what you have to say, Tsunade," Sarutobi-sensei declares. Tsunade nods her head and gets to her feet rather bashfully, arranging the slips of paper sprawled on her desk before she starts speaking.

"Thank you, Lord Third." Her respectful invocation makes a gracious impression to everyone in the room, Orochimaru can tell, especially in light of the bad fame that environs his female counterpart's amenities. "I would like to address the issue concerning the increased number of casualties that we've been suffering this past year. Seeing as the war doesn't seem to be going anywhere and future confrontations are inevitable, it is my conviction that we should do something about the despoilment of human life. It's derogatory to our military jurisdiction, and it spoils the morale of our troops and their families. My suggestion is that we fundamentally reform our medical system to stress on preserving the lives of our soldiers and providing medical treatment not only after but _during_ combat as well."

"Elaborate," Koharu Utatane, the female advisor, impels sternly.

"Firstly, if a four man platoon must take on a long, isolated mission in enemy territory, including a medical specialist would surely boost the platoon's rates of survival many times over, and the mission success should increase greatly. Therefore we should train highly skilled ninja medics, develop a medical organization, and establish a solid structure for it. I believe this is our number one priority right now."

Orochimaru gauges the initial reactions. Their teacher is frowning, the advisors looks like they are choking on a lemon slice, and Sakumo has the features of a thoroughly bored man. Only Danzo is sporting the ghost of a low-key smile, semi-concealed behind an unconstrained gesture. Orochimaru's piercing gaze lingers on the man for a while. _Intriguing._

He vaguely registers as Sarutobi-sensei sighs thoughtfully, smoothing over his grizzled beard. "What you say is true… but we're at war right now. Establishing a medical organization will take time, and we lack the knowledge to do it. The enemy won't wait for us."

 _Keep them_ _alive,_ Orochimaru could say; pragmatism always works best to prevail upon doayens. _More experience._

But then he notices Danzo, again. The man appears to be tampering with his eye bandage while looking at Orochimaru obliquely, making it seem like he is merely scraping his temple, but the way the layers of overlapping plaster shift is not lost on the snake jounin. Orochimaru narrows his eyes, not at all happy to be toyed with like that. A little more fumbling, and then—just for a moment—the flash of a red storm _Sharingan._

Orochimaru barely bites back a sinister chuckle of surprise.

Transplanting bloodline signatures into another's body is not unheard of. Orochimaru himself has explored this option on several occasions in the past, all studies conducted well under wraps of course. But this... Orochimaru has never witnessed anything quite like it before. It extends far beyond his field of expertise. The transplant itself is a simple enough procedure; basic, almost. But acquiring the sharingan, be it from a corpse, or even more controversially—a living Uchiha... now that is incontestably prosecutable. Is Sarutobi-sensei aware that one of his personal advisors is in possession of such a notorious weapon?

Orochimaru licks his sharp teeth, a slow smirk spreading across his lips as he inclines his head at Danzo, a look that says, _color me impressed._

Tsunade's mien going up in flames is all that keeps him distracted from this most unpredicted precedent. Her palms slam over her desk so vigorously that the wood cracks and the people around her jump in their seats. "What did you say, geezer?! Then we will never…"

"I agree with her idea. I do not wish the sacrifice of our fallen ninja to go to waste. We should learn something from it."

Everyone turns their heads to take a look at the man speaking up. The sight of Dan Kato standing tall and insolent is almost enough to dampen Orochimaru's high spirits. Ever since they first encountered him, the man has been an obnoxious presence putting himself out to win Tsunade over with moralistic talk and birdbrained war philosophies. But the bigger fool, Orochimaru sourly has to admit, is his teammate, for losing her head over that man's imperfect ideology. The wide-eyed look she is giving Dan right now, as if he were a godsent, makes his stomach turn, only confirming his bitter reflection.

Orochimaru keeps the scoff to himself. But then all of a sudden it dawns on him that perhaps this particular outcome is not as disagreeable as he might think. "You have a point," Homura, the other advisor, opines. "However..."

The discussion is reignited all by itself, and at some point Tsunade shoots him a thwart glare. Orochimaru doesn't see how he can be held accountable for any of this. He'd promised her support. He never said it had to be _his_. Orochimaru sets back in his chair as the argument continues with varying success, pleased with the turn of events. It looks like he can get by without scathing his good name after all.

The council meeting forges ahead, but Orochimaru has no mind for it. All that's reeling in his head is that eye patch and its substance, and the wonderful, wonderful idea that it's just given him.

* * *

Later, when the meeting has concluded, Orochimaru doesn't wait for the black cloud that is Tsunade to pour its grudge down on him. He skins away amidst the tumult of people rousing from their benches and heading for one of the exits—some yawning their discontentment with the councils' late hour of conduction, others muttering about getting a drink, third taking the conversation from the official discussion elsewhere.

Tsunade is none of the above. She just sits there with a deeply harrowed look engraved on her face, her golden curls framing her sides as she stoops over the desk with her hands supporting the weight of her upper body, her nose almost leveled with the flat surface.

She looks like she's been drinking, which she hasn't, and that's something of an indicator that things might take a turn for the uglier.

That is why Orochimaru is in a rush to hightail the living day out of this. Calm is bad. He much prefers angry and stupid to collected and sly. When she is mad, she can be handled, cooed into reason, even. When she is self-possessed, she eradicates irritants without a second thought. Orochimaru does not feel like getting himself into more trouble than he can fetch for, especially given the fact that he has plans for the evening, plans that don't include him being wiped out like a gnat, or worse—strapped to a chair and forced to gamble away all of his savings (her most severe and cruelly designed punishment, a lengths she has only ever gone to once, when Jiraiya had purposefully walked him into the women's dressing room at the hot springs and he had borne witness to things he cannot unsee to this very day).

That is not to say he doesn't make sure he slithers nearby when Tsunade and their teacher trade blows in the back of a murky corridor in the aftermath of the conference. Orochimaru presses his back against the wall, keeping his presence in check as he bends an ear to the ongoing quarrel.

"By the way, both your mission reports were just dreadful. I have not seen so many a spelling error from the two of you in my lifetime."

"I don't give a rat's ass about the stupid reports! You can't tell me you're willing to give me a chance and then just go ahead and slam me like that in front of everyone and their mother!"

"Tsunade, lower your voice."

" _No,_ sensei _._ I think _you_ should lower your _attitude_. My grandpas were Hokage before you and _they_ never lost track of the things that really matter."

Orochimaru listens to the fallout with an impassive face. He keeps silent as his sensei berates his teammate for her rashness, as she calls him out for his orthodoxy in turn, as they both say things they absolutely don't mean, vain words shot point-blank, carrying all the gravity of drunken confessions. _Save your strength_ , Orochimaru might say. _The enemy is right there in your backyard._

His keen eye wises up on a disturbance at the far end of the corridor. _Danzo's rats._ Quick drags of blackness across the indigo of the midnight sky in the window frame indicate it may be time for him to join his potential colleagues on their nightly activity.

The wrangle at his back is still going in full swing when he pries his back from the wall.

 _They are like little children._ He is not going to be their shepherd tonight. The shadows call to him. Orochimaru closes his eyes and saunters away.

Tsunade may be unsettled right now, but he already has a good inkling as to whom she might go to for consolation. He'll probably tell her exactly what she wants to hear. Lies and delusions straight out of an utopian stargazer's playbook. Nonsense that they will both be glad to fall for, the fools. Doesn't matter.

Tsunade's betrayal might have stung, initially, but then he realized it's nothing to get upset about. These relations they share have worn out. They all need to make some new friends. And judging by the looks of it, Orochimaru might have just happened upon a most valuable one.

A malicious smirk twists his bloodless lips as he shakes his head.

War councils can, indeed, be interesting.

* * *

War councils suck. Especially if no one agrees with what you say. That's basically Tsunade's problem. No one will let go of their silly little pride and listen to her. Orochimaru can go shove it. He didn't so much as lift a finger in her defense. His half-assed attempt at swinging the audience before the meeting commenced was just plain insulting. He didn't even have the decency to come offer an excuse afterwards. _Damn sissy._ _I am so setting his hair on fire the next time I get my hands on an explosive tag._

"'I'll support you, Princess'," Tsunade puts up her most sordid mockery of her dark-haired teammate's sleek voice as she takes the stairs down three at a time and storms out the central door like a skyrocket. "'Keep quiet about the skeletons in my closet and my general ooze of fishiness, Princess. I'll _so_ lend you a hand with your struggle to save a bunch of lives, Princess.'"

Y _ou must be having the laugh of your life, you lying bastard._ The looks he's exchanged with Danzo have not gone lost on her. Betrayal stinks almost as much as public rejection, but as circumstances would have it she has no damn intention to deal with either right now. Tsunade could care less. Let them have it his way. New friends for everyone!

And Sarutobi-sensei… Sarutobi-sensei totally backstabbed her. _He promised. He promised he'd give me a chance to contribute._ Everyone on her team is a big fat liar, apparently. She hates to admit it, but she is really starting to miss having the pervert around to uphold _some_ sort of moral high ground, ridiculous as it may sound. _He might be a butthead but at least he has his priorities straight._ He doesn't turn a blind eye to what's wrong in the world, and he has the guts to bring injustice to light and face it head-on. For Jiraiya, it's always the good guys versus the bad guys. There are no grey zones with that man. Tsunade is in desperate need to have that kind of certainty back in her life, that failsafe compass she sometimes lacks or fails to recognize, now more than ever.

But Jiraiya is not here, and neither is Nawaki, and Orochimaru and Sarutobi-sensei have just sunk way down her trust list, and Tsunade has never felt more alone.

To be honest the only thing that has kept tonight's fiasco from dissolving into a complete debacle is Dan Kato. His words may not have been enough to influence the majority of the elders, but it was the only moment when Tsunade felt like she had some kind of moral support. When he rose from his seat and spoke up for her, it helped her feel less alone and exposed in front of all those scrutinizing gazes. All of a sudden she wasn't just a raving lunatic ranting in front of mistrustful strangers. She was one of two people standing up to political conservatism.

And what he said… she could tell he understood her. Perhaps that's why she finds herself tripping over her feet to catch up to him instead of slumping on a chaise lounge made of empty sake bottles in the closest bar, where she can catch up with her drinks and maybe, just _maybe_ , work herself into a nice durable stupor that will help forget what this ill-fated evening has brought along.

Instead she hears herself screeching, "Wait up!" in a far more high-pitched voice than she would have liked to the shadow of a practical stranger. He has mercy, and does not make her say it again. "Thanks for back there," she mumbles, somehow finding it much harder to talk to his front than to his rear.

He eyes her in something of a cocktail between perceptiveness, curiosity and something that doesn't quite fit into the definition of anything she can come up with. _Buddha save me, and I'm not even drunk yet._

"What you said was true," Dan says. Tsunade lowers her head gloomily. _Wish you weren't the only one thinking that._ An awkward silence falls between them. "Um… It's late. Do you want me to walk you home?"

Tsunade snaps up her head, dumbfounded out of her mind by the out-of-the-blue suggestion. Don't people usually do that at the end of a… date?

"What?" she stammers out. "You'll do that? Where's your house?"

Dan laughs and it's so simple and unpretentious she could have smacked herself for probably sounding rude or unrefined. "The opposite way."

A blush spreads across her cheeks for no damn reason. Tsunade lifts up her hands in front of her chest, quickly chastising herself. "Then you don't have to."

"I don't mind." Dan smiles, and it's like he means it. He starts walking in the direction of her house, leaving her no other option but to follow, the weirdest of feelings sitting at the pit of her stomach. On second thought, a drink _does_ sound good right about now. "I want to talk with you, too. Also, this path was my favorite when I walked to pick up my little sister from the Academy."

Tsunade frowns. "Was?"

There is a pause. "She died in that night raid on the Hidden Leaf a year ago."

His words tug straight at her heart. _He's the same as me…_

They stroll in silence for a while, accompanied only by the sounds of the night—owls hooting and crickets chirping.

"I appreciate your effort tonight," Dan states casually. "I know it must have taken you a while to prepare to speak in front of all those people. At least the Hokage did you the courtesy of hearing you out."

"Yeah… before he cut me down like a damn ficus. Thanks for supporting me though. Again. It means a lot to me."

"It's our duty to speak our mind, even when it's clear that we are in the minority."

"…That backlashed pretty badly though."

"I suppose it did. But revolution doesn't happen overnight, Tsunade. You must have patience and be persistent."

Tsunade looks up at him quizzically. "So you're… not giving up?"

"I don't like that word, Tsunade. If you don't think something is worth fighting for to your last breath, then that's probably not what you truly want. I want to defend our village in any way I can." He smiles sheepishly and her heart skips a beat when the ghost of Nawaki's face projects over his. "Tonight I saw you trying to do the same. I am obliged to ask, is this what you want, Tsunade?" She nods without hesitation. "Then I certainly hope I can count on you to keep pushing. I admit tonight might not have been a success, but it was the first time I felt like I had an actual partner."

Tsunade looks away, cheeks turning red yet again. "I… I'm not giving up."

Dan grins, scratching the back of his head. "That's a relief. Maybe we will end up working together on stopping this war after all."

His words from the first time they met at the border checkpoint swim up in her head. He had the same effect on her back then too, everything he said going straight to her head and making her want to try all over again, just once. Just one more time, give the old dream a go. Believe this time it might be different.

Tsunade can't help but feel cautious, standing at the edge of the plunge board, one step from diving in. It's hardly the first time a man makes her a promise to stick by her side. Hardly the first time a man has broken it, along with her heart. Nawaki vowed to become Hokage and it was the death of him. Orochimaru swore he'd be there for her and it turned out to be a bold-faced lie, on more than one occasion. For all his big talk that stupid pervert never did quite muster the courage to outright give her any kind of promise. She doesn't think her heart can take any more shattering.

Tsunade looks Dan up and down. Long purple gray hair that sways lightly in the evening breeze, in a comforting sort of way; gentle teal eyes that _see_ her pain but don't go out of their way to offer up non-existent cures like Jiraiya or use it to their advantage like Orochimaru; they just _see,_ and watch, and understand. He has a certain sense of sadness to him, _almost Orochimaru_ but nothing so infinitely cold and distant. Her gaze travels downward. There are cuts around the neckline of his polo tunic where the hard collar has worked open old wounds—three or four or more—oh, he's known war. Lower there is the conventional pine green token of a trained killer, but the green is interrupted by a little fleck the color of a cherry blossom. The twine is thin and discreet, but it's carefully tangled around his kunai holster, a chivalrous commitment done out of love, the sort of gesture inherent to kind-hearted men who've lost more than their fair share. _His sister's_ , Tsunade realizes, and she wants to cry and hug him, then punch him in the face for taking forever to show up in her life.

It's hardly the first time she nods her head with a hopeful smile playing across her lips, accepting the extended promise. _I'm not an idiot for trying_ , she tells herself.

This time, she has a hunch the person might be worth putting her bets on.

* * *

 **notes:  
** 1\. Not much to say, really. Damn, that's a first. Hope you enjoyed the read? Ok, fake politeness is not my forte. Oh! I've tweaked the title a bit. Sorry about that but I suppose I'd reached the stage where I had to either change something or quit writing altogether. The title was the lesser casualty, me thinks. Also changed my penname. Again. I swear this is the last time I'm touching that.  
2\. Just gone through some planning ahead for this fic (my very first one!) and it turns out it's going to be ~30 chapters long. So grab a drink and sit back, because the ride is nowhere near over. On second thought, grab the whole damn bottle.


	14. Black Spades, White Spades

**XIII.  
Black Spades, White Spades**

Danzo's rats lead him on a silent parkour across the village's rooftops, noiseless and humorless as freshly widowed mutes. The air currents that are typical for the Hidden Leaf valley at night wind about their ankles, their grievous wail reaching for their soles from somewhere far below. Orochimaru smirks sinisterly even as his eyes water, reminding him of the nagging detail that this is, indeed, his second night away from the comfort of his bed. He pulls out a kunai from his hip holster, causing the hooded vermin around him to flinch in alarm.

He could have laughed at their chariness. Ultimately, he decides he's probably earned it. The common folk would sooner discuss war and death than their own mundane lives, and so tales of his cold blood seem to be travelling like foreboding carols from one pair of lips to the next.

Orochimaru plunges the tip of the weapon deep into the plane of his own palm without preamble, feeling the sharp pang polish his somnolent mind like a whetstone. "Please don't mind me," he drawls in amusement as he becomes aware of the confused eyes buried under black cowls that are staring at him with all the perception of moths and earwigs. _I'm wide awake now._

Danzo is waiting for them at the edge of the village, placidly tapping on his lop-sided cane—the sole sign of imperfection Orochimaru has witnessed from him so far, and it's almost as if the man is flaunting the piece of wood in a deep and elaborate irony of sorts—twin escorts towering at his sides like a pair of glorified Rottweilers. Orochimaru can't help but wonder how they've traveled out here so quickly. Yet another question mark coiling under the man's name, pending and irritably curious. Quite a few of those glissade there already, Orochimaru notes dryly.

"I can see my proposal has piqued your interest," Danzo remarks, no formal greetings exchanged between the two of them this time.

Orochimaru crosses his arms, his dark blue yukata flapping in the wind along with the black mass of his hair like a swarm of keen tendrils. He leers, all teeth and no masks. "That's the first I hear of it. Surely you don't consider riddles and conjectures an actual proposition."

"Is that why you came out here then? To solve riddles? I thought you said yourself you were more practical than that."

Orochimaru brings up his bloodied palm to rest beneath the shed of his chin, his forked tongue lolling out casually to feast on his own redness. It tastes like nothing when it should taste like victory, and it frustrates him just a bit to know he still can't quite get the zest of it right; there's still work to be done before he can say he is fully satisfied with what he has become.

"I'm practical enough to tell a riddle with potential from a vain one. It isn't every day that someone offers however tacitly to hand over all of my teacher's secrets. I admit I'm interested in what your conditions might entail."

"My only condition is that you hear out what I have to say in answer to your questions, and take it into consideration in your future dealings with Saru."

Orochimaru nods slowly, though he is left with the inert feeling that there is more to it than that, that he had better be wary of another piece of the puzzle that Danzo has left out for later.

Danzo veers on the teeth of his wooden sandals without another word, face as unreadable as a face can get, as he guides the party to an undisclosed location. Orochimaru assesses his ambient entourage as they move under the crowns of ancient oak trees that don't grow to be as large anyplace else in the world. It's him between a dozen marksmen, plus Danzo. The advisor is a cautious man. And clearly stories of Orochimaru's taste for carnage have not been far from his ears. Seven elite chaperons is quite the forethought. But nowhere near enough if has he honestly meant to keep Orochimaru at bay. Seven cockroaches and their king. Orochimaru isn't exactly at ease, but he'd take his chances, if need be.

Orochimaru chuckles to himself, pleased with his own ability to read into the elder's actions. The both of them seem to think in similar ways which makes it all the more interesting to follow Danzo's logic. Seven guards. It's the ideal number of sentries if one wishes to imply that _yes, I somewhat trust you, but no, I'm not without friends._

He takes extra care to memorize the pathways they show him through as the murky forest opens up to swallow them deeper, until the wood is as black as the sky and the only source of light is the lantern that seesaws in Danzo's frail grip. It's almost endearing, really, how they think that walking him in subtle circles would help make him lose track of their location.

It doesn't, and by the time they've walked him through the same area three times he wishes to tell them that there is no need to waste their respective time, that the only thing they're accomplishing this way is helping him get an even better grip of his surroundings. He keeps his keenness of observation to himself. Better reveal less than reveal too much.

They travel in silence, like a string of hooded monks. They arrive at a round, treeless meadow, where there is a thatched hut reclining in the middle of the grass, a small mesh in the straw inviting them into the eerie blackness inside. A sardonic grin stretches Orochimaru's pale face as he follows in Danzo's soundless footfalls and pushes apart the strings of hay to enter the murk premises. It would appear he isn't the only one making use of his own little oasis of secluded anomie. He wonders what kind of illegalities lie hidden in Danzo's delve.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Danzo's muted voice carries down from inside.

Orochimaru pushes past the tentacles of dangling straw interlaced with totem-like rattletraps and dives into the tunnel of darkness like the nocturnal predator he is.

The visual aspect of the hovel's inside is preceded by a sharp smell of stagnation and old spices, the strange odor rolling sharper still on Orochimaru's sensitive tongue. Orochimaru flicks his tongue by instinct or habit or both, apprising the new environment. The room is small and windowless and seems to barely resist collapsing in on itself. The supporting timber has that sun-bleached look and the low table and chair are more bare rotting wood than white paint. Weeds grow through the planking up to his knees. If there was ever a sense of cultivated beauty to this place, it is now gone, buried. Only the orderliness remains, miraculously, among the ramshackleness, that and the smell of smoldering herbs, fresh parchment and wet ink glistening in open quills.

Orochimaru finds himself disappointed. Nothing of note. If there are secrets hidden in here, they are far too deep for Orochimaru to see.

"I'm dazzled," he quips dryly, not bothering to hide his letdown.

Danzo's hands abandon his cane—which remains perfectly balanced and upright as a spoke, Orochimaru doesn't fail to note—to perform a sequence of fire release seals. His hollow cheeks swell and pinken with an inner heat as the shrimp flames spring from his mouth. He spews them out like pips, putting a small fire in the hearth. At least, Orochimaru has to hand it to the man, he shifts for himself with the bare minimum.

"There is no need to sweeten the tea when we are in private," Danzo equivocates casually. Orochimaru surveys the seven curs clad in cabalistic cloaks that saunter inside the hut as well and make for the far corners of the room. They each take their respective position with no given order, encompassing him and their liege in a seven-pointed star, with the relatively clear intention of dwelling there like bats in a closet. They seem to be little more than well-disciplined shadows, but their presence still unsettles Orochimaru. In the end, he supposes he can't ask for more of the man's idea of a private audience. Orochimaru himself knows better than anyone that he is a man to be mindful of. "There will be plenty of time to do that when we are in public."

A moth has gotten into the lantern Danzo is holding; Orochimaru can hear it buzzing and see the shadow of its wings as it beats against the glass. _Die_ , Orochimaru thinks at it in irritation, _fly into the flame and be done with it._

He looks the elder askance. "And just how much of this is public domain?" he asks, inclining his head to the hut that surrounds them.

"Saru knows about it, if that is your half word." The proclamation somewhat surprises him. It must have shown in his eyes because Danzo sighs as he lights up his pipe and eases himself into the only chair there is. A thin streak of smoke sets sail from his mouth, trailing up and up but ultimately finding no release through the low clay ceiling. "I hope you don't mind an elderly man making the best of his paltry comforts," Danzo says with a false tremble in his voice as he looks up at Orochimaru, who is left to stand at the center of the room.

"No," Orochimaru chuckles, deciding to play along. "An ailing elderly man needs all the help he can get."

Danzo smiles cleverly but sighs, sucking at his pipe. "Saru and I have known each other a long time. Ours is a complicated and layered relationship. There is care, to be sure, but we have a way of disappointing each other."

Orochimaru licks his lips, intrigued. "How do you disappoint him?" he queries in a husky voice.

"By refusing to change."

"And how does he disappoint you?"

Danzo dusts his shoulders disdainfully as he rests his pipe on a rack, replacing it with a cup of tisane to his lips. "By refusing to die."

Orochimaru chuckles. He has not expected the discussion to start off quite this flagrantly. "That's unfortunate."

Danzo waves his age-spotted hand dismissively. "Life is unfortunate for most of us, though I am sure you don't need to be told that. But that is enough small talk. I suppose you have a lot of questions on your mind. Give them breath and see some answered."

An expressionless mask crawls over Orochimaru's face, kiting an ever so subtle hint of amusement. "The traitor me and my teammates owe our latest nickname to. Who is he?"

Danzo settles back in his seat, respiring deeply. "I had a feeling you would be starting with that. Are you familiar with my organization, Orochimaru?"

Orochimaru knits his eyebrows. Truth be told he knows very little of anything this man does. Whatever he knows about his dealings is either the fruit of eavesdropping or sheer guesswork on his part. "To a degree," he answers carefully.

"My management is called Root, and it is a branch of ANBU—the more problematic branch, if I am to be honest, given most of my men's history—that Saru has given me control of. I have personally raised most of my subjects." There is a tinge of pride in Danzo's voice as he carries on. "Brought their potential to light. Turned them from simple urchins into trained executioners. Make no mistake, our actions are consistent with the Fire Land's government, and those of your teacher. But only a fool would believe a country can be run on honor and goodwill alone. Saru may have his flaws but stupidity is not among them." An arcane smile flickers across the man's face. "He and I have always split the playground right in the middle. The village is no different. I let him have his white spades and I he lets me have my black ones."

Orochimaru catches on quickly. "It was more likely a black spade that two-timed us, I take it."

"The man who betrayed you to Hanzo was one of my own indeed. An Aburame scion _—_ I specifically selected him for this mission. There has been a rise in incidents with classified material falling into the hands of Hidden Rain operatives. I wished to insert one of my counterspies among their higher ranks to prevent this kind of lapse from continuing. Since such intrigue is beneath your teacher… well. I apologize for the inconvenience it may have caused you and your comrades, but you can understand how I had my employee give out your position as a means to gain Hanzo's trust."

A member of Root on a death squad… and Sarutobi-sensei had likely approved. Moreover he did not feel like he had to share this particular predicament with his students.

"And is my dear sensei aware of this little mole digging its way through Hanzo's backyard?"

If the Hokage had been in the know about the traitor, then he must have been aware that they would clash with Hanzo, too. Purposefully putting his pupils in such grave danger is something so uncharacteristic for the Hokage that it seems ludicrous to even consider. Orochimaru narrows his serpentine eyes, his mind clicking and spinning like an intricate clock. This just keeps getting more and more interesting.

"Saru is the Hokage. As a simple advisor, I have no right to withhold any type of intelligence from him should he ask that I disclose it."

It takes Orochimaru a moment to process the words. "He hasn't though, has he? At least not directly."

"Light cannot exist without darkness. They are the two pillars that hold up this world. One collapses and so does the other. Saru is clever enough to realize the need of someone like me to take on the unpleasant tasks, so that men like him can bask in the glow of chastity."

"And would my sensei have also realized the need to remodel the map by, say, declaring a war or two?" Danzo doesn't give an outright answer, but his single eye tells Orochimaru all the tales he needs to hear. Orochimaru blinks slowly, a fascinated smile stretching his white face. "So then it is true…" he drones softly, more to himself than to Danzo. "The Hidden Leaf started this war."

"The Hidden Leaf?" Danzo repeats, unruffled. "No. Root did."

"With the Hokage's long-winded blessing, I am sure. Just out of curiosity… how _do_ you start a war?"

"It is a sophisticated matter indeed. I do hope you will take no offence in me saying that there are certain things I would like to take to my grave. In brief, there were certain events that needed to be set in motion… though nothing a young mind should be tainted with. Even more so a young mind that is yet to become my employee."

Orochimaru's yellow eyes spark up in recognition. _So there it is._ The missing piece of the puzzle.

"Are we not getting a bit ahead of ourselves? I don't know yet if you are deserving of my service."

"Ah… Saru has raised a vain beast. I should probably kill you for the insolence. But I think I might hire you instead. You are an impressive enough individual, Orochimaru of the Sannin, and you are close with Saru. He lets you have his ear. I could use someone like you in my fold."

Orochimaru's wrath boils thick and red beneath his skin. A whisperer. He wants him to be a _whisperer_. A link between two greater titans. He nearly cuts the man in half then and there, for implying that it is once again the shadow of his teacher that overcasts the merit of his own achievements.

"Be that as it may… I still haven't heard a single thing that would benefit me from this arrangement. An unhappy employee can be very peeved…"

"Let us strike a deal then, Orochimaru. You will inform me of your share of Saru's secrets, and I shall keep you updated on mine."

Orochimaru smirks, already salivating at the thought of discovering all of Sarutobi-sensei's dirty linen. "Hm. I admit it doesn't sound half bad."

"And of course you will carry out certain tasks for me."

The request is a bit too direct for Orochimaru's liking. His eyes skip back to the cloaked figures standing on the periphery of the room, statuesque like ancient gargoyles. He wonders what kind of promises Danzo has made each of them. "Such as?"

"I do not intend to assign you with anything insulting of your skill. You will accompany me on my travels through hazardous settings and you will inform me of the movements of certain figures and parties. You will track, tackle and exterminate individuals or political fractions that inconvenience me and my work. You will gather intelligence on organizations and radicals and you will serve as my direct link to them by delivering messages and representing me on meetings that I am in no position to attend myself."

Orochimaru crosses his arms, his expression betraying none of his thoughts. "Sounds doable," he consents, though the suspicion never quite leaves his eyes.

"There, there. I have no wish to do away with Saru's favorite student before his time. I will not send you on self-destructive missions like those subordinates of mine I dispatched to fight alongside you in the Hidden Rain."

Orochimaru quirks an eyebrow. Not just the survived traitor? The man's control over the war map is far more extensive than Orochimaru would have suspected. " _All_ of them? In that case I cannot imagine things went quite as planned out there."

"On the contrary. They each played their part to the fullest."

A slow and sly grin spreads over Orochimaru's face. "So that's how it is…"

"You need a group of loyalists for a man to stab in the back, otherwise the traitor would be no traitor at all. Their job was to die, and from what I gather their work has been passable."

"Killing your own characters to make a tale more believable… You are a cruel storyteller, Danzo. The best ones always are." There is this nagging question on his mind. "But tell me this: why include us three? And how did you convince my precious sensei to let us be a part of it?"

The question gives Danzo pause. "He never knew."

Orochimaru frowns. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"The letter you received instructing you to regroup was sent by me. By the time Saru figured out what I had done, it was too late to send another one nullifying the order, and you three would probably second-guess its authenticity either way."

"You appear to be oddly alive for the crime you've committed."

"Don't give me this attitude, Orochimaru, especially in light of your recent transgressions." Orochimaru's eyes widen. _The First's scrolls…_ Too much. This man knows far too much for Orochimaru's liking. "You and I both know what it means to trespass the rules for the greater good. And we both know how Saru is when it comes to handling delinquents he feels affectionately about. Caught between avenging his students and caring for his old friend… He would sooner take the blame all to himself rather than do either of us any harm."

"Why would you need us three to be there?" Orochimaru persists, having little patience to spare on sentiments.

"Because the three of you are infamous and I needed something of appropriate scale to lure Hanzo out. I had to be sure the head of the village himself would be present to meet my subordinate, you see. One does not bait sharks with small fish, Orochimaru. Would Hanzo slither out of his lair to subdue an incidental Leaf platoon? Hardly. Dozens of them pass through his village by the day. The Third Hokage's very own disciples, however… now that is something else entirely."

"Why the keenness to establish contact with the man in person?" Perhaps there is more transpiring between this Aburame spy and the Hidden Rain leader than simple espionage. "Last time I checked it was considered a minus for an emissary to fall into a monitored figure's field of vision." Orochimaru leers knowingly. "One might think that you and Hanzo were trading recipes rather than war blows."

Danzo's placid smile transmutes into a hazardous one. "You ask a lot of questions for only a prospective associate."

 _You should be happy that I'm still asking nicely._ "Would it help if I was an outright associate, then?"

"You should know that most of my agents are trained to kill; not question."

"I'm not most of your agents. In fact, I would prefer us to think of each other as something of business partners."

"Ah, there comes the talk of a privileged child. I was wondering when that would come to surface. Though I suppose it is better to discuss these things beforehand rather than have you take liberties with your duties. Here is the way things are, Orochimaru: I offer you a job as my convoy and delegate. No more, no less. You have clearly been raised differently than those children that are entrusted to my care from the nurseries, so I do not expect blind obedience from you. If I did, I would simply hand over your job to one of my whelps. But that is not the type of work that can be done by any of my current subjects, and so I won't. Sometimes a man needs a wolf of battle, not a well-heeled dog."

"Hn. Please do consider that wolves tend to demand better feeding than simple dogs."

"True... Name your dish, then."

"From now on you will speak of me in front of the elders as the future Hokage. You will officially endorse me for the title, and you will make certain my talents are well accounted for before all important governmental figures."

It's Danzo's turn to raise an eyebrow. "So the wolf desires to be the leader of the pack? I wonder, which way would you lead them? Would you guide them on a path to the quiet forest where there is an abundance of lambs... or would you take them up to the wild steppes, where the grass is high and beasts lie in hiding?"

An imagery from a lifetime ago manifests in Orochimaru's head at the words. It was his first time visiting Ryuchi Cave, when he was faced with the coils of a great white thing spread out among a bed of bones, with a bulk as large as a whale's, and scales as sturdy as adamant. _I see my reflection in you_ , the naga had hissed, and that was the only thing he ever heard from it.

"As long as they obey me the wolves have nothing to fear."

Danzo's good eye guesstimates him skeptically for a long while. "I wonder about that... In any event, I decide to accept your terms, Orochimaru. I will make certain that word of your ambition is not far from the overlords' ears. Do we have an agreement?"

Orochimaru's eyes expand savagely. "We most certainly do."

Danzo sets down his cup and rises serenely from his chair. "Good. Now we can proceed to finalize our arrangement."

There is a second there, a precarious second when Orochimaru can feel the mood in the room tilt on its axis.

"Meaning?"

"Orochimaru. Do you honestly think me the fool, to take my chances with you? I cannot allow a snake to roam free in my garden."

Orochimaru's serpentine eyes narrow wildly as they jump between the seven rats surrounding him. Kunai knives flash in their hands, the blades yellow from catching the fire light. Strands of matted black hair fall thick between his furrowed eyebrows. A chakra scalpel is already juddering around his dragon claw palm.

But they never make for his throat. In fact they remain just so, faces shrouded, knife-clutching hands brought up in front of their chests, motionless, still, quiescent. Their stagnancy grows more intense the more he looks at them, until it feels like they are spinning impossibly around him, along with the room, along with Danzo. Where is Danzo? Orochimaru cannot seem to turn his head to check for himself. Suddenly he becomes aware of the tile floors that bow under his feet with each step, and the mold invading the ceiling that flakes off at every chance so that it can seep into his lungs and grow dangerously there.

But that doesn't make any sense. The room should smell of incense, not mold. The floor should feel like wood, not tiles. Orochimaru is caught in a paradox, one where he sees one thing but senses another. It's all incredibly irrational every time he tries to put it in words, or pull away from it.

Then it all dawns on him in one instant. It rips a ragged sound from his throat, and he nearly chokes on it, the realization.

Rage surges through him. Twice. It's happened to him twice to fall for a cheap trick like this. First with Hanzo, and now with this senile old thing. But when, when has he...?

 _Ah..._ Revealing his sharingan back at the council clearly hadn't been just for show. There was direct eye contact between them there, beyond a doubt. Danzo had impudently revealed a sickening glimpse of the evening ahead, and Orochimaru saw through none of it. He has allowed himself to be lured out here. _Damnable old man._ Hatred and envy for this red eye of his take root deep in Orochimaru's heart, to the point where he is unsure which emotion dominates his heart.

 _Stay rational._ _Analyze. Think about killing him later._ He's probably been under the illusion the whole time, ever since he left the Academy. Which means Danzo's subjects are probably not even here. _Which means he hasn't led me to his secret facility._ Which means they could be located anyplace in the village or its vicinity.

That addle-brained old man. He has the impudence to play him for a fool. _Him_ , Orochimaru, the genius, the silver child. It's so ridiculous, so brazen, the sheer temerity of it all, Orochimaru has no words for it. He just laughs, his shoulders shaking from the sharp ruptures of bitter amusement that stream through him. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until the sound is wry and twisted and unrecognizable, a rudimental, husky thing that's more a lunatic and a snake and a dragon than a human male.

"Very well, old man," he barks to the shadows, unable to break free from the powerful genjutsu. _The most powerful one I've seen._ "You've tricked me so. What do you intend to do with a cornered snake? Just keep in mind that these tend to pack the worst of bites." Each word is a snap of his teeth and a hiss of his tongue, until the last syllable fades into a perfectly serpentine _ssss_.

"There goes that ego of yours again," Danzo's deep, artificially enhanced voice reverberates in his mind, as if striking from all directions. "You think you are special when in truth you're only slightly less ordinary than the rest. It is to be your undoing, boy. Mark my word."

The particular remark stings more than Orochimaru is willing to let on. How dare he. He _is_ special. He _is_ an immortal-to-be. He _is_ the one who is going to discover it all. For this man to deny him that… It is beyond riling. Orochimaru attempts to bring his hands together in a release seal despite the feeling of rough pincers warping his perception of his own body, but something cold and hard clicks around his wrists, bringing them further apart and locking them behind his back.

Orochimaru's jaw nearly hits the floor. Did Danzo just have the audacity to _handcuff_ him?

Orochimaru gives out an angry hiss, barring his teeth and rippling his elongated tongue as his whole face crumples up in an ugly, unnatural scowl. Danzo infuriates him immensely when he merely chuckles at his ire.

"Settle back. Those are chakra shackles I just placed on you. I had the feeling we might be needing them. Be mindful that I have more severe means to restrain you, if need be. I would rather you didn't force my hand though. A good shepherd's duty is to shear the sheep, not skin them. I don't intend to do anything damaging to you, Orochimaru, you are too valuable an asset. But you are also a new recruit, and new recruits need to be branded. Lain claim to, if you will. I have my interests to consider. I meant every word I said to you tonight, and I am still very much looking forward to working more closely with you. But for this to happen, certain precautions are needed. This is a routine intake procedure, one that will assure that you don't commit a breach of trust or think to slither about the village spilling my secrets to the wrong men. You are hardly the first ninja to go through it. Hardly the last one, either."

Orochimaru hates the sense of unity that the man's words give him, almost as much as he hates the feeling of something cold and tasting of iron prying his jaw open, reaching down into the depths of his throat like an unwelcome intruder. It gropes blindly for his tongue, clamping around it with all the baseness of a treacherous tendril and rolling it out of his mouth to an unnatural length. This is the worst part of it, he hopes. Soon he'll be back in the security of his own lab, where his mind can clear. Where he can make his plans.

The comedown is laced with the burning sensation of a seal sinking into the sensitive flesh of his tongue like a nefarious stigma. It's just that—a sign of ownership that throbs black and thick on his tongue. _To keep the wrong words from coming out_ , Orochimaru vaguely registers through the haze of his utter and ground-breaking wrath. It's not right. It's not right that he should be the one enduring this humiliation. He should be the one marking his toys, not the other way around. He cannot imagine the loss of face he would suffer if any of his teammates were to discover him like this. He immediately retaliates from the thought. Their idiotic opinion is the last thing he cares about right now.

"Struggle and the application will take longer to complete."

Orochimaru hisses out. He can take this, it's just his body, and when has he put that much value on his body alone? He's more than that. He has his mind, and it, his ideas, that means something. His blood, his ambition, his wonderful and terrible children of science that need him—for them, he must endure the indignities that his subjection no doubt has in store for him. He can do it. One day too soon, he'll be free. And then. Then they will know exactly what Orochimaru of the Sannin is capable of.

Finally Orochimaru settles down and is quiet. Nothing. He feels nothing. Danzo is a dog and a wretch, and a sadly mistaken man.

Apparently the leader of Root takes this as an act of submission. Orochimaru decides then and there that he is to rectify that little misreckoning.

By any means necessary.


	15. Hello Little Fox

**XIV.**  
 **Hello Little Fox**

He has been dreaming sweet and terrible dreams of Danzo's head mounted on the Kusanagi sword with its eyes carved and its mouth full of rot. In his mind's eye he has worn the man's yellowed teeth dangling around his own pale white neck for the entire village to see. He has devoured the aged carcass like one of his great anacondas. And he has claimed the crimson sharingan as his own, its cinnabar lens glistening superiorly within a socket once occupied by a serpentine bead. There, safely surrounded by the flesh of its new master where it can take the place of blood and age and death and every other fleeting trace of mortality, it chars, until it has chased away all that is aggravating to Orochimaru like a hot wind burning.

Just as the dream reaches its most titillating stages, a woodpecker or some other bothersome creature stirs him from his intoxication. Orochimaru throws a kunai at it blindly without turning or even cracking an eye open, sketchily registering the sound of wings flapping frantically around death's pivot.

Flesh being pinned to a wooden railing and blood dripping on a tiled floor. He waits to hear the end of the beating of wings before slinking back into a stupor. In the back of his skull he is aware that he has slept through an entire day and night, but he has little care for it. Let them wonder.

The sweetness of empty dreams never quite reaches his mind again.

Orochimaru shifts spitefully in his sleep, restless like a rattlesnake forced down its hole. Visions of recent events flood his mind without being given summons.

Once Danzo was finished with him and all but evicted him from his quarters—which turned out to be located to the south-west of the village, in a small, utterly ordinary craftsman district of all places—Orochimaru darted directly for his lab. The covert one, it's where his instinct led him. His mind was a barbate cloud of grudge and murder and he didn't trust himself to be in the company of any other creatures save for his snakes.

He brought the front door down with a vehement kick, madness shining in the bloodshot cornea of his eye as his pride wept black tears on his freshly pilloried tongue. He quickly made to go torture some creature still scuttering about his rooms, neglected by the reaping crest of his scalpel. But then he collapsed against a wall in the middle of his step, his vision blurry and his breath coming out in labored huffs, and he decided to spare himself the extra humiliation of cutting things open with a shaky hand.

He did not waste any time burying himself between his sheets, the sheets he usually reserved for the corpses of his deceased experiments, falling into a dark and unsound slumber.

And now he rolls this way and that, the darling images of Danzo's end slipping between his fingers like grains of sand.

A low hiss ripples on Orochimaru's tongue. The bed creaks and the room tilts on its axis as he wells up, low-browed, to wage war with the dullness of the wall across him through the black sticks of his sleek, unwashed hair. He hates it when he doesn't have time to take care of himself properly, especially when he has a hapless, addle-brained old man to thank for it.

He hears the breath surge through his own clamped teeth as he comes to terms with the fact that his morose nap has, indeed, come to an end. He stretches, cursing lowly under his breath. His muscles appear to be spasming with the after force of all the drinks he never had. _If that's what it feels like to be a drunkard_ , Orochimaru thinks sordidly, _by all means, I should have more respect for Tsunade._

He is briefly tempted to call on her and have her take a check at the seal Danzo placed on him, but quickly discards the notion. Tsunade is in her own world of trouble, and he prefers it that way, for it keeps her that much further from his business. Besides, he doesn't think he has it in him to suffer through her worries and her reproaches, neither does he feel like coming up with a decent enough lie to account for the seal and the bruises budding like anemones along his jaw (Danzo was less than careful with the tongs while he was stretching his mouth open).

Most of all though, his stomach turns at just the thought of letting another take care of him. He disrelishes being exposed at a vulnerable state, notorious, his flaws laid bare for all to see. Tsunade has treated him many times over the years, of course, has even brought him back from the brinks of death a couple of times, but that was different. He would let her get away with it then because they were out on official village business, the mission posing as much an obligation as their _comradeship_ , as those two like to call it, and that meant they could at least pretend to be just two soldiers fulfilling their war duty, no more no less.

Now there would be no denying the reality of it. There is no mission to hide behind. It would be a personal favor to ask of her, and that would suggest he might _owe_ her something, or worse—that he _relied_ on her—and that simply won't do. Not even Tsunade is allowed to get that close.

He'll deal with all of this on his own and reap the benefits.

Orochimaru's narrowed eyes work their way around the sharp beams of light as he scans the room, which he has no memory of breaching in his ferment. Surely enough, there is a puddle of blood loitering along the floor, the redness branching out across the ivory tiles like the thin legs of an insect. Orochimaru's eyes trace it back to its center, where a white swallowtail bathes in the colors of its own death, goggling at him unseeingly with a crass black eye. Ah, the despicable bird. This death has been far too mild a punishment for it.

His snakes must sense his anger, for they crawl that much closer to his bed, slowly responding to his sounds. A small cobra's lean bulk whispers over his lap, the cold scales shuffling and hissing flirtatiously as the reptile offers up a comforting head to the back of his hand. Orochimaru looks down at it fondly. _Silly creature._ He swiftly wraps his fingers around the base of its head and squeezes until its gentle sounds morph into hostile seething. The sickles of its fangs outcrop as its tongue swishes and its tail stirs, snake eyes boring into their identical twins that hover above them.

Orochimaru smirks darkly. "That's it. Show me your teeth." There is no beauty in sheathed claws.

Poison sprays over his cheek and Orochimaru licks it with a lazy whorl of his tongue, his chuckles evolving into a full-blown maniacal laughter as his grip contracts around the snake's throat, gripping harder. The serpent thrashes gloriously in his clutch, never surrendering its life to him. He throws it to the floor after a time, next to the dead bird, where it convulses a couple of times before the spark finally goes out of its eye, its head forever reaching for the unobtainable prey.

There is something unsettling about the sight of it, though Orochimaru can't quite put a finger on what it might be. _This is what happens to blind boldness_ , he tells himself, thinking of Nawaki. _This is what happens to senseless chivalry_ , he contemplates, thinking of Jiraiya. _This is what happens to upjumped fools who have long skipped past their rightful station_ , he terminates, thinking of Danzo.

His body is starting to recuperate, and he feels the flex coming back to his tendons. The aftereffects of Danzo's seal must be starting to wane. Orochimaru rises smoothly from the bed, testing his balance. His feet bend and he nearly falters, but his hand dives for the dower-chest next to him deftly enough.

Orochimaru pants, animalistic, disgorging his anger in long, ugly portions of sound.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stills. His torso appears to have elongated itself without his knowledge and his tongue is slinging down to his middle like a piece of dead meat. It's stretching the seal, the pattern of it frustrating in its incomprehensible simplicity. His skin is whiter than the sheets that are still wrapped around his bottom half, and his eyes are even more bloated than before he got his sleep. He looks like a crossbreed, unnatural, and the oddest of déjà vús overwhelms him. He has seen himself like this before, reflected in the polished onyx of his white-haired teammate's eye over Tsunade's cooling corpse. Images of Hanzo's genjutsu fly before his open eyes, uninvited.

Orochimaru tears his gaze from the looking glass, shatters it with the sheer force of his chakra alone.

He barely catches himself from falling onto his hands, but that doesn't stop him from launching another vicious attack on the furniture. His limbs feel like water and he lets them wander unhinged, twisting and dissolving into snakelings until he is more a mass than a body, anchored by an oblong neck and a head that scowls and growls without a trace of elegance to its movement.

By the time he's done running amok there is little left to be repaired. He has swept through most of the upper storages like a tropical storm, killing all of his lesser guinea pigs and destroying stacks of research progress. That's alright. All the worthwhile things are kept downstairs.

Orochimaru reassumes his human male form, feeling evened.

There is not much to be angered about, now that he thinks about it more rationally. Looking past his initial wrath, Danzo's precautions have been quite reasonable. _I would have perhaps gone farther to keep my secrets from spilling._

Perhaps he would have even turned his servant into a host.

A sentimental smile stretches his lips as he thinks back on those early days when every new discovery seemed like a sacred providence to him. It was so much easier to feel like a god then. Ignorant times.

The making of hosts was the first proper experiment he'd put into practice. The principle was simple enough, with an ample range of imperfections embedded into it as he would later discover, though no less exciting to implement. He was fourteen and the basic assortment of the main chunin library was already meager on him. Wherein his teammates—especially Jiraiya but Tsunade as well, Orochimaru was disappointed to admit—seemed impossibly engrossed in familiarizing themselves with the act of human mating, Orochimaru was driven by a different type of curiosity. One that would only intensify over time. The divergence of their interests would often separate them during their days off, each preoccupied with their own preferred pastime activity.

It was on one such afternoon, when he was rendered free of his teammates' close company, that he came to cross paths with Yutaka Uchiha.

Orochimaru disliked Yutaka. Even though Orochimaru was a year older, even though Yutaka was smaller and weaker, even though Orochimaru was smiled upon as the genius by everyone and Yutaka was only given any homage when he advertised his last name, Orochimaru despised Yutaka. Because Yutaka was better at swordsmanship.

They were both taught the ways of the sword in the Academy. However, Orochimaru was more interested in ninjutsu and genjutsu, and though he was no slouch with taijutsu, swordsmanship wasn't something he was interested in mastering until after he met Kusanagi. Yutaka, on the other hand, excelled at it since an early age. It was his passion, his life, especially since he showed no indication of hatching a proper sharingan. As such, it always seemed to Orochimaru that he was misusing his gifts though he also envied him infinitely for them.

Yutaka was weak and inferior as a shinobi. So when he boldly and foolishly demanded that Orochimaru gave up the training grounds to him, Orochimaru made it known that he had different ideas.

Their fighting was quick and rough—and with a brutal ending. Orochimaru took advantage of every one of Yutaka's weaknesses, especially his inability to perform offensive jutsu, but Yutaka's masterful swordsmanship landed him a few lucky blows. One of the cuts in particular sank exceptionally deep, and Orochimaru carries it across his rib to this day. Orochimaru, in a fit of rage, stabbed Yutaka in the back with a kunai. The Uchiha boy, in his throes, clawed at Orochimaru's face like a crazed cougar. Orochimaru stabbed him again in the spine for his trouble.

Fear chased down Orochimaru's shoulder blades when the boy collapsed to the ground, wailing something about not feeling his legs. Fear turned to anger again when Yutaka spat out his intention to inform the Hokage of their brawl.

In secret, Orochimaru had the boy dragged deep into the trackless forest to the north-west of the village, where he summoned Manda and told him to dig what would later turn into the main wing of his covert laboratory. Orochimaru threw Yutaka in the ditch and left him to scream his throat dry as he went back home, wondering what to make of the situation.

When he returned for the first time, he carried a bread roll in one hand and a knife in the other. Yutaka swatted away the food, refusing to make the promise that was attached to it. Overwhelmed by anger again, Orochimaru did some more irreparable damage to the boy's body, then left again. The next time he didn't bother bringing anything save for his spite. By his third coming, Uchiha was begging for the bred roll again. Orochimaru never heard him. For a month or so, Yutaka was his passive doll and he did to him whatever he felt like doing to everyone else that surrounded and annoyed him.

The boy was announced missing soon after. Someone recalled him going to train, the same place Orochimaru had at the time, and soon there were question asked, bad questions. Something had to be done.

Orochimaru was close to losing his nerve at first, but then he collected himself and started devising a plan. He took on a low-rank mission that went into the Land of Rivers and used it as an excuse to disappear from the scope of prying eyes for a time. In truth he sent out a mud clone to do it for him as he had specifically selected the task to be of undemanding nature. In the meantime, he descended into his secret hole, determined not to crawl out until he'd come up with a solution to his problem.

That's how his idea was born. He set up a table in the tunnel that was beginning to gain shape under Manda's relentless ministrations, and lifted what was left of Yutaka up on that table. It was no secret that he carried around a small scroll, usually tucked away in his purple rope belt. But only Orochimaru himself was familiar with the contents. Within the scroll there were seals, each harboring a small snake, about the size of his hand from pinky to thumb. The snakes came from Orochimaru himself, extracted through his connection to them, a reversible process he discovered early on in his adolescence.

Those snakes, however, appeared to be as lifeless as empty shells. They lay dormant within the seals, and even when Orochimaru held them out in his palm, they were as cold and inanimate as Yutaka's legs. It took a long while before Orochimaru could think of a proper use for them. But the threat of dragging his good name through the dirt by the village's slander proved inspiration enough.

Orochimaru injected the snakes with a combination of adrenaline, Yutaka's genes, which he had extracted from a blood sample, and a syringe of pure chakra, which he had stolen from the restricted section of the medical research wing. Then he let them clamber on to the boy's body.

Once played upon a foreign environment, they sprung to life. It was the most fascinating thing Orochimaru had witnessed in his fourteen years. Most of them died burrowing into Yutaka's body within seconds of contact with his skin and hair, drowning in his blood or suffocating in his flesh, leaving only round red carving paths in their wake. But one made it through. It reached deep within Uchiha's body and there it went dormant again.

Until Orochimaru devised a seal to activate it.

Once awakened, the snake inside of Yutaka began to feed off of him, enough to maintain itself while keeping its new host alive. It required careful control on Orochimaru's part, but he'd taken a few chakra command lessons from Tsunade earlier that week, under the pretences of wanting to improve their overall teamwork. She'd been delighted by his enthusiasm, indulging his odd questions with a fond smile, not in the slightest suspecting what the information would be used to facilitate. It had been too easy. She hadn't even asked why he needed to know any of those things. Orochimaru almost felt guilty for taking advantage of her clear affiliation with him afterwards, but brushed it off.

It took a few moments for that one snake to begin to replicate into many. As he suspected, the snakes then went through cycles within the host's body, or generations, if you will. Orochimaru felt the swarm grow through his lingering connection with it, guiding the rapid expansion with his own chakra, surprised at how intelligent these beings were, how little they had to be steered. Even though his actions were more instinct than sense, he was aware that this was the foundation to the implants' existence, and to their very persistence in life.

Once the original snake entered the body, it nestled itself near a few blood vessels, in a fat area. It feasted upon the excess fat and nutrition flowing through the blood vessels closest to it. From this it began to replicate itself, producing a new generation. The first of that generation took on the role of the original, and nestled itself away into the same location, where it feasted again and grew another generation. The old generations perished and got eaten by the next, a constant cycle of reproduction.

Then came the habitat adaptation. Orochimaru observed in scientific wonderment as his snakes developed and adjusted to the host's body. They even took on some of Yutaka's latent traits, such as resistance to Fire Release, the dominant element of the boy's body.

The survival calling happened last. This was another natural ability of any and all host dwellers. It was what allowed for them to be of use to Orochimaru in his particular situation. The snakes might be entombed in a foreign body, but deep down, they were loyal to their master and bent to his will alone. It took a bit of practicing, but in a fortnight or so Orochimaru was able to take full control of Yutaka's body for a short period of time, similar to how a puppeteer might use chakra strings to take charge of a marionette.

The boy had lost half his wits through the procedures anyway, and so when Orochimaru willed his legs to move him back to the village and his lips to tell his family that he'd been kidnapped by burglars, he did as he was bid. It was tempting to keep the Uchiha for further examination or simply as a pet, but Orochimaru knew better than to push his luck. He got rid of Yutaka the minute his innocence was proved. He withdrew the snakes back into himself, killing the Uchiha boy in the process.

And it was done. His first real experiment. A complete success.

The jutsu has since gone through many improvements, of course, as to prolong the durability of both the host and the extent of Orochimaru's control over the anatomy of the test subject. Ultimately, he's almost ceased using it altogether. He has found better ways to extort the things he wants from people's bodies. But the thrill of that first discovery will forever stay with him, like a trophy stored away behind a polished glass, never to corrode or catch dust.

When asked later if he had any idea what had happened to Yutaka, Orochimaru claimed that he was perhaps attacked by the same enemies. There was a war on at the time, a war that swallowed the lives of two Hokages, and no one was going to question him twice.

 _I was patient then, and I_ _won_ , Orochimaru thinks languidly now as he heads for the hatchery to indulge the rumbling of his empty stomach. He devours two boiled eggs without chewing and changes into his jounin attire, tying his hair back in a loose ponytail and licking the viscous yolk from his chin with an indolent swish of his drawn-out tongue. There is no one around to put a face for. _I should take my time now, too._ An unhurried snake is that much less likely to be heard rattling. Danzo will get his comeuppance when opportunity presents itself and not before. Regardless of how it occurs, Orochimaru will make sure it all happens on _his_ terms.

And as long as his service lasts... It is past time he put his famed cunning to proper use.

A slow grin pokes at the corners of his mouth as his mind fills with schemes and angles to exploit his relationship with Danzo. _Yes… just like I do with sensei. Just like I do with Jiraiya and Tsunade._ Even though those four might appear very different from one another at first glance, the basic principle remains the same. They all trust him. Be it misplaced fatherly affection, or a brother's foolish love, or the hopeless wish to see the best in him, or something as simple as a restricting seal, one way or another, he currently has all of their trust.

And that, Orochimaru thinks mockingly, is worth more than all the leverage an exalted politician might have.

Orochimaru heads back for the village, eager to wreak some very warranted havoc among his precious allies.

* * *

Sarutobi-sensei isn't pleased with him. Orochimaru could care less. His mood will not be dampened by the frowning glance of an aging teacher.

"You asked to see me, lord Third?" The mockery in his voice as the honorific title slithers through his teeth is sharp and biting.

The Hokage inclines his head. "So I have... You left so quickly last night, I did not get a chance to ask your opinion on the evening."

Orochimaru narrows his eyes. If the Hokage knew about him and Danzo, he would not be asking quite so vaguely. _He suspects, but he knows nothing._ Orochimaru intends to keep it this way, at least for now. "What's there to opine? We're at war. Fools will be fools. These meetings are held to counsel reason back into them."

"Even so, it was rather cold of you to not speak up for Tsunade. I hear you didn't even stay to talk to her later."

She'll hold him to it, no doubt, but Orochimaru isn't all that worried. Tsunade isn't one for holding grudges. Her wrath is like a summer storm. She'll rage and yell and kick down trees the size of buildings until her knuckles bleed, and that will pretty much be the end of it. Then it'll be like it never happened. If she found a way to forgive him for Nawaki, she'll forgive him anything, and that's a weakness Orochimaru is willing to sink his teeth into.

"Tsunade is a woman grown, sensei. She can deal with her problems without a guiding hand." A wolfish grin wedges itself in-between his delicately parted lips. "That's one thing about students. Can't keep us children forever."

The Hokage chuckles softly. "That's true. But I can certainly point out the lingering children in you when you forget about them."

"As much as I enjoy catching up with our fleeting lessons, I'm afraid I shall have to insist on hearing the real reason you called me here."

There is a slow nod under the many folds of the heavy triangular Hokage hat, and a sigh to keep it company. The Hokage seems tired, Orochimaru can't help but note, more tired than before they took off on their last mission. _Perhaps the hat is too heavy for you, sensei._ He briefly wonders about that deal he struck with Danzo, and just how much of it the elder is planning to uphold. _Perhaps someone will rid you of your burdens soon._

"Hm. I have a mission for you, student. I know we had an agreement to let you off for a time but the occasion requires your attention." His teacher leans forward, the way he usually does when there is a confidential matter at hand. "There is a very important person, Orochimaru. She needs to be escorted back to her homeland so that she can gather up useful knowledge about her clan's background. Her success is critical to our village's safety."

"I am to be her escort, then?" Orochimaru scoffs, not at all happy to be pulled from his research facilities and his new game with Danzo before he has had a chance to truly step into both. He is aware that he'd be pushing boundaries, but he might have to work open some old wounds in his sensei's heart to decline the mission.

"I would not ask it of you if I thought anyone else was up to the task."

"Tsunade is in the village," Orochimaru points out. "Sakumo Hatake as well. Either of them can be considered my equal."

The Hokage sighs heavily. "Yet it is not their skill that I wish to employ. As I said, this is something only you can do. This person... this child, I feel there is much you'll find in her."

Orochimaru's eyebrows shoot up. "You mean to leave a _child_ in my care?" Even the senescent man should have enough wit left in him to understand well and truly just how ridiculous a suggestion that is.

"Not just any child, Orochimaru."

"Oh?"

Just then the doors part in forcefully and a small raspberry bundle barrels into the room. It grinds to a halt at Orochimaru's feet, where he is almost tempted to offer up his sole as a deterrent. Orochimaru cranes his neck to observe the odd creature, a mixture of cool listlessness and a hint of interest animating his pale face.

"You were not supposed to barge in just yet," the Hokage says, though his voice is warm and absent of rebuke.

The girl pushes strands of unkempt hair from her face and rolls up to her feet. It's the clumsiest transition Orochimaru has ever witnessed in his life. Up front, he sees she is slightly chubby, with a round face, clear violet eyes full of mischief, and fluffy rosy cheeks. But the most distinctive trait about her is her hair. It is wild and knee-length, and as red as a fox's.

"I got bored outside," the wench blurts out, a small pout pushing her lower lip forward. "And the stupid guard won't play with me."

Orochimaru's eyes flare. He'd recognize those horrible manners anywhere. _Why hello, little fox_ , he coos evilly in his mind.

Sarutobi-sensei gazes down at the child with a fond smile. The look Orochimaru is giving her is far less innocent. His eyes are staring at her with a bad glint, one of pure hunger, and he barely holds the grin from skating on his face.

"Orochimaru, may I introduce to you—"

Certainly no lead-in is needed. There is no mistaking the sheer desire to kill and devour that seeps through the girl's jolly exterior, a chakra so terrifying even Orochimaru nearly feels intimidated by just the hint of it. This might turn out not to be the chore he took it for after all. Orochimaru grins wickedly. He has been needing a new project for a while now. Sarutobi-sensei, he has to hand it to the senile old man, this time he's come up with something interesting. It's a bargain far too sweet to pass on.

Orochimaru's eyes expand in raw curiosity as he looms over the girl, causing her to take a small step back.

"My, my, what have we here?"

* * *

 **notes:**  
Been so long, lovely people! But I, very much like this story, am alive and kicking. I took a small break from writing this because I believe it's better to chase plot bunnies down the rabbit hole and have something to show for it in the end than to focus on what one is "supposed" to be writing and crash into a creative wall. Hence my latest Shingeki no Kyojin oneshot time waster. Anyway, back to this story—I'm very much sticking to the original plan of it being around 30 chapters long, and I intend to post each and every one of 'em bastards, no matter how long it takes me. Cheers to anyone still reading!


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